And Left the Tenderness of Tears
by Lurea
Summary: Frodo seems very serene when he is leaving the Shire forever. Why? How does he come to terms with his grief and loss? How do any of us deal with grief?
1. Prologue

**And Left the Tenderness of Tears**

Frodo leaves the Shire forever and seems quite reconciled to it.  He does not curse his fate.  Why?  How did he come to terms with the loss and sacrifices in his life?  How do any of us come to terms with our grief? 

This is a Frodo angst-romance story.  In my own defense, I never intended for it to develop into a romance.  

That fault must be laid at Mr. Baggins' door.  

The characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.  I borrowed them for a little while.  The title is borrowed from Shelley.  This is set post-quest, after the Scouring and before Frodo's departure from the Grey Havens.  It takes place in Brandy Hall, the ancestral home of the Brandybucks.  It is as canon as I could keep it. Perhaps it could have happened…

My thanks to the wonderful ladies who beta read this for me.

These are mere fragments of the longer, glorious poem, _Rosalinde and Helen_ by Shelley.  

He dwelt beside me near the sea;

And oft in evening did we meet,

When the waves, beneath the starlight, flee

O'er the yellow sands with silver feet,

And talked.  Our talk was sad and sweet,

Till slowly from his mien there passed

The desolation which it spoke;

Yet o'er his talk, and looks, and mien,

Tempering his loveliness too keen,

Past woe its shadow backward threw;

Till, like an exhalation spread

From flowers half drunk with evening dew,

They did become infectious---sweet

And subtle mists of sense and thought,

Which wrapped us soon, when we might meet,

Almost from our own looks and aught

The wild world holds. And so his mind

Was healed, while mine grew sick with fear;

For ever now his health declined,

Like some frail bark which cannot bear

The impulse of an altered wind,

Though prosperous; and my heart grew full,

'Mid it's new joy, of a new care;

For his cheek became, not pale but fair,

As rose-o'ershadowed lilies are;

Like flowers, which on each other close

Their languid leaves when daylight's gone,

We lay, till new emotion came,

Which seemed to make each mortal frame

One soul of interwoven flame,

A life in life, a second birth

In worlds diviner far than earth;---

Which, like two strains of harmony

That mingle in the silent sky,

Then slowly disunite, passed by

And left the tenderness of tears,

A soft oblivion of all fears,

A sweet sleep:

---Shelley


	2. Past Woe

**  Past Woe**

Frodo Baggins was all the talk that morning at breakfast.  My mother in law and her mother in law were sitting at my table chatting while I picked at my food.

"Remember when we first heard he was moving back to Buckland, Opal?" Dahlia asked.

Opal's wrinkled old face creased in a wistful smile.  "Tory brought the news back one trip, didn't he?"

"Indeed he did.  And all of Buckland was abuzz with it.  And disappearing into the Old Forest and all…it's a shame he's come back in this sort of a state."

"Really?  What state?" Opal was all eager attention.  I stirred my tea apathetically, trying to banish the images Dahlia's words conjured up.  I remembered the stir when Mr. Frodo Baggins announced he was moving to Buckland.   I remembered the concern and gossip when he and Mr. Merry and Mr. Peregrin disappeared.  The whole Shire had talked of nothing else, but we in Buckland had had a special interest.  

On the night they disappeared the Horn-call of Buckland was sounded for the first time in a hundred years.   Fatty Bolger collapsed and was ill for two weeks, and Esmeralda, Merry's mother, would allow no one to see him.   She and Saradoc packed him off home indecently quick, and refused to talk about what had happened to anyone.  All they would say is that the young gentlemen were 'missing, last seen headed into the Old Forest' 

"After all, young Merry has done well enough," Dahlia went on.  "Settled right down and being such a help to Saradoc." 

Merry had always been very popular.  At the time, most believed that Saradoc and Esmeralda had been quite unbalanced for refusing to hold a memorial service or even acknowledge that Merry was surely dead.  Saradoc made such a scene when Tilly asked when Merry would be listed in the funeral rolls that it was only discussed in whispers afterwards.  

"I thought Frodo had settled down, as well?" Opal asked idly.

Dahlia sniffed. "If you call hiding in his hole settled, then yes.  He's given up being Mayor, did you know?  And makes no sign of assuming the responsibilities of a Baggins at Bag End."   My husband, Tory, used to love to bring us news.  He would tease and we would fret, and then he'd tell us, putting the pieces together quick as a wink.  It was amazing sometimes.

"How do you know that?" I asked abruptly.  Dahlia looked surprised.  

"I said earlier that he's visiting Merry, dear, and I heard it from Esmeralda.  I think she is a little worried about him."

"Oh."  

Opal patted my hand gently.  "What are you doing this morning, Tansy?"

I folded my napkin carefully and stood up.  The room did not sway or tilt.  "I'm going for a walk," I said with forced cheerfulness.  "It's a beautiful day."

They both beamed at me and nodded approval.  I stopped in my bedroom for a moment, and then made my way outdoors.

**********************************

_It was as if they had forgotten_ the fuss they put up when Tory first decided he wanted to be one of the Eastfarthing shiriffs.   He was always one for action, was my Tory, and if he didn't get it, he'd go find it. In a restless bachelor, that was expected, but once we married, the routine began to wear on him.  I asked Dahlia and Torric at least twenty or thirty times, "Why shouldn't he get out and do something socially responsible?"   All they could say back was that it was not appropriate for one of his station.  It nearly made me smile to remember it. And in the way of things, when he finally went and did it anyway, the younger Brandybucks were completely in awe of him. 

My sweet Torinas reckoned his descent from Lilac, the sister of Gorbadoc Brandybuck.  She married into the Chubbs.  When she was widowed young, Gorbadoc was only too happy to have his sister and her grandchild (my husband's father), back in Brandy Hall.  Perhaps it's because he was a Chubb originally, and only became a Brandybuck by adoption that Torric is so conscious of his place in the family.  Dahlia, his wife, is of a minor Goodbody branch, but you would never guess that by her behavior.  

For Tory, the job was mostly a lot of walking and talking.  He was never gone long, perhaps two weeks of each month total.  And whenever he returned from his gadabouts (what I used to call them) it was as if we were newly married.  He would come through the door of our rooms, and just look at me.  Just a look, and I would nearly melt from the heat in it.  He favored the Brandybuck side, being tall and slim, with dark brown eyes and very light chestnut hair.  My little Tobas (that we called Toby) was so like his father, they could have been twins.  Sometimes I would look at Toby and search in vain for some evidence that I had had a hand in his creation. 

I had been keeping a watch for Tory that day, and I saw him talking to Mr. Saradoc and Torric.  He always made sure to pass on whatever interesting news he had to the Master of the Hall.  And from the way Torric always nodded and commented to Saradoc, you'd have thought this whole shiriff business had been his idea.  I nipped back to our rooms quick as a wink, and packed Toby up to visit Granny.  Opal was still sprightly at 94 and always happy to keep him for a bit.  Although she shared rooms with Torric and Dahlia, it was generally Opal in charge when I took Toby over.  I had the feeling twice-married Opal knew exactly why I always brought Toby to her on the days Tory returned.  

**********************************         

I shook off the memories and opened the back door of the Hall, and the bright sunlight speared into my skull.  I stepped under a tree, grimacing a little.  August was always such a warm month.  I could hear voices coming from some of the open windows.  

"….thirteen you said, or was it fourteen?"  I recognized the clear voice of the heir of Brandy Hall.  He was up early. 

"Neither, wooly-head.  Sixteen barrels of the gold ale and I don't know how many of the brown."

"Perhaps we should check the quality."  Chuckles and jests followed me down the little path.  

**********************************

_My darling Tory_ knew I watched for him and sometimes would play at trying to sneak in unobserved.  He never tried very hard, though.  He enjoyed our reunions as much as I.  That particular day I had decided to tease him good and proper for he'd been gone nearly three days longer than I expected.  When he opened the door, I was settled on the floor with the big washtub full of sudsy water, wearing an old, threadbare skirt and shirt with no apron.  It was a warm summer day, so I'd left the top few buttons undone while I scrubbed the clothes in the tub energetically.  

He was smiling broadly.  "Hullo, Tansy, I'm back," he'd said as he always did.  

I had barely glanced up at him.  "Torinas, darling, welcome home."

He had hesitated then.  I could see the thought forming in his head.  Had he genuinely surprised me this time?  He had sat down on one of the chairs and watched me.  I had accidentally splashed some water down my front, so I was a bit damp.  And when white linen gets wet….   After a bit, he cleared his throat and addressed me again.  "Got some interesting news on this trip, Tansy."

I lifted one of Toby's shirts from the tub and pretended to frown at it.  "Mmmm-hmmm?"

"Frodo Baggins, that used to live here as a boy, has decided to move back.  He's selling his house in Hobbiton and Merry is helping him look for a hole or house here in Buckland.  Merry's been quite close about the whole affair."

"Really? How interesting."  I had hardly a thought to spare for Frodo or Merry. I stood up and climbed into the tub and lifted my skirt, stomping hard.  

Tory gaped at me. "What are you doing?" 

"These clothes are so dirty, I thought I'd try the vineyards way of cleaning them." 

The smile spread back over his face, and he jumped up and snatched me into his arms.  And then the washtub got tipped over.  .

**********************************         

I didn't care to think any further just then.  I had come to the little decorative gate and pushed it open.  It creaked.  "I should bring some oil and fix that," I thought as I always did.  No one else came here often enough to see to it.  I left the gate standing open, and hesitated a long moment, staring out over the fenced space.  I'd gathered some daisies and wood-roses on the way and I bunched them up in my hands. 

**********************************

_When that business _with Lotho Sackville-Baggins calling himself the "Chief Shirriff" started, Tory and Mr. Saradoc paid no mind at first.  Away in Westfarthing, Lotho could call himself the King of the Eagles if he liked and it would make no difference to Buckland.  And, we'd learned to tolerate odd behavior from Hobbiton folk.              

Tory continued walking and talking, though, and pretty soon he heard about old Will Whitfoot getting locked up.  He hotfooted it back to Brandy Hall four days early that trip, and spent a long time closeted with his father and Mr. Saradoc.  The next day, Bucklanders started bringing in supplies to be cached in the cellars of Brandy Hall.  It wasn't long after when the first Man showed up at our gates, demanding to talk to the "head man of the little folk".  Mr. Saradoc met him cordially enough, listened to the rules and showed him around all the storerooms.  When the carts came, we Bucklanders even helped load them with our 'shared' portion of supplies.  Of course, I had it straight from Tory that Mr. Saradoc had only revealed about a tenth of what was actually present in Brandy Hall at the time.   The carts had barely cleared the gates before Mr. Saradoc had sent Tory off to Tuckborough with messages for the Thain.

Those were difficult days.  Half the people of Buckland and the Marish were camped out in or around Brandy Hall, and no one knew whom to trust.  I was sick with fear that Tory would be thrown into the Lockholes.  Little Toby was just starting to talk and whenever he asked for his daddy, my stomach would clench. 

Tory kept telling me not to worry and it seemed all right for a time. And the few times the Shirriffs were ordered to arrest a Bucklander, they had a terrible time finding the person.  It always seemed that the person had left just that morning for a long visit to relatives in some other Farthing. Then the one called Sharkey came, and Mr. Saradoc gave up even the appearance of co-operation and locked Brandy Hall up tight.  I had been so relieved to have no more pretense of 'shirriffing'.

**********************************

I walked along the rows until I came to the stone I sought.  I knelt down and traced the lettering with my fingers.    _Torinas Brandybuck, 1383-1419, fallen in the Battle of Bywater _  And below in smaller letters:  _beloved son, husband, and father_

My fingers felt as cold as the stone they touched.  As chill as Tory had been when they'd brought him back to me, barely clinging to life.

**********************************

_It was November 7th._  I'd known he was injured and that it was very serious but when I saw him, I felt my knees weaken and the room spin.  I barely recognized him.   The bloodstained bandage wrapped around his head couldn't account for all the changes, could it?  His skin was pale, his limbs stiff.   His breathing was harsh and slow.  Dahlia helped me wash him and lay him in our bed.  His lips were a strange dark color, as if he'd been eating blueberries.  I asked Dahlia about it, and she wouldn't meet my eyes.  Then I asked her about the healer, and she started crying and turned away.  And I knew.  Merry had sent him home to die. 

I couldn't bear to let Toby see him.  I sat by Tory and I talked to him all that night.  Even when my voice trembled and shook, I talked to him.  I held his cool hand, I kissed his lips, and I bathed his brow.  I told him I loved him.  I talked about how we would laugh about this someday, when I was dandling our grandchildren on my knee. And finally, just before dawn, he took a harsh breath…and just stopped.  He did not take another.  I combed his hair back with shaking hands, and crawled under the bedcovers to snuggle next to him.  Dahlia and Torric came to me then, and managed the rest.  I could never remember much of the rest of that day.  Tory, dead?  It was ridiculous.  He was barely of age.  We should have had another 60 years together. Dead?  

It was the Travelers who had started the whole mess.  On November 2, the news came that Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin, Mr. Frodo and Samwise Gamgee had returned to the Shire and been promptly arrested.  The news set Brandy Hall afire.  Tory and thirty other young men set off immediately to either rescue them or join them.  Then inevitably came the Battle of Bywater on November third, and my sweet Torinas was struck on the head by a barbed club and never woke up again.  Never told me goodbye or saw our son.  Never kissed me or even heard me speaking to him.  

I stood through the memoriam numbly clutching Toby.  How could I have ever wished he looked more like me?  I was grateful for the small glimpses of Tory I got when Toby smiled or moved his head a certain way.  

Merry came to see me afterwards.  When he knocked on my door, I stared at him for a long moment before I could bring myself to invite him in.  Dahlia would have been mortified.  He sat down, and talked for a while about how brave Tory had been.  I watched my hands clenching in my lap, wondering how that was supposed to comfort me.

_I wish he'd been a coward_, I thought.  _I would that he'd left you to your own devices.  You didn't need his help, you and the others._

Then he said, "Tansy, I want you to know that Brandy Hall is your home.  I know you have family to go to, but I want you and Toby to stay." I had just looked at him.  My mother had died 5 years ago, and I wasn't that close to my father.  

He shifted under my look and finally burst out, "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have Toby be the Westfarthing shirriff someday."

"He will be sensible," I answered coldly.  "No adventuring.  Why?  So he can die young as well?"

He nodded and dropped his gaze.  "Tansy, I'm sorry."   

I said nothing and he got up and left the room. 

**********************************

In the Brandybuck cemetery, I leaned my shoulder and cheek against the stone until I could feel its coolness seeping through my clothing and chilling the tears on my face. I wished to numb my heart and soul as easily.

**********************************

_Outwardly, Brandy Hall_ was soon back to normal.  Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin ran about mopping up ruffians, and showing them to the borders.  Saradoc and Esmeralda were over the moon to have Mr. Merry back from the dead.  And I heard that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had given Bag End back to Mr. Frodo.  Everything worked out fine for them.  

As for me, I had no choice but to cope as well as I could.  I had Toby to look after.  Each morning, he woke me with his sweet prattling, and each night, I tucked him into my bed.  Dahlia never missed a chance to tell me I was spoiling the boy rotten, but I paid her no heed at all.  He would grow up soon enough.  I needed to enjoy what was left of his babyhood.  Already he was pushing me away when I tried to help him dress and eat.  "I do it, Mama," was all I heard from morning to night.  But he would still let me cuddle him in my rocker at bedtime.  His small form fresh-washed and relaxed, he would sprawl across my lap while I read to him from the book of fairy tales I had gotten from the Hall library.  

Toby was our only child.  It's rubbish what some have whispered, that we didn't get along in that way, and that is why Tory felt the need to go on his gadabouts.  I was brought to bed of Toby in September 1416, when Tory and I had been married just a year and 2 months.  It's true I worried a bit when another babe didn't come after him, but then, we were young.   We had more than enough time for all the babes we would want.  And for all the heat in our bed, it was still cold for the fortnight each month when Tory was away.  

One day I missed Toby while I was kneading some bread.  Lost for a bit in the rhythmic motions and the feel of the silky dough under my hands, I suddenly felt it was too quiet.  I called out, "Toby?" and was rewarded with an answering mumble from the bedroom.  Wiping my hands, I had hurried in and found him sitting in a pile of Tory's clothes.  He had pulled them out of the cedar chest.   I had removed them from our wardrobe but could not bring myself to get rid of them.   He looked up at me, smiling.  

"Daddy's shirts!" he said excitedly.  And then, "Where Daddy?" 

My throat closed.  My grief reared up like wayward pony, dragging me along with it.  I could only stare at my child dumbly. That day our bread was seasoned with tears.  

The evening of April 29th, I was sitting and rocking Toby when I heard a tap at our door.  "Come in," I called.  Opal's bright eyes in her wrinkled face peered around at me.

"So what are you going to wear, then?" she asked with a twinkle.

"Wear to what?" I responded, though I guessed what she referred to.

 "Why, to the May Day feast, child!  Now, I have a yellow dress that would be very becoming on you."

"I won't be going to the feast, Opal," I replied.   

She looked unsurprised at this announcement.  "I see.  You won't be taking Toby to see the men kindle the fire and leap it for luck?  You won't help gather the first flowers?  You'll just sit in here and brood, and keep Toby with you?  Of course, he wouldn't want to go."

I hesitated for a moment.  "Now I think on it, perhaps Toby should go, at least for the supper.  He can go with you."

"Girl, go on with you!  I'm too old to run about after a 3 yearling.  Why, he'll leave me in the dust or give me an attack of the heart-pain."

I looked at her skeptically. "That's not what you say when I bring Toby to you for visits."

"Well, in my rooms, he's constrained-like.  He can't go all about and everywhere."

"Perhaps he could go with Dahlia and Torric then…." My voice trailed off, as Opal looked vastly amused. 

"Yes, go ask Dahlia to put aside her own enjoyment to watch her grand-baby so you can sit and sulk."

I frowned at her, but didn't reply.  She twinkled at me again.  "Shall I bring the yellow dress around tomorrow, then?"  

"Yes," I muttered with ill grace.

At the feast the next night, I enjoyed myself far more than I had imagined. .  There were athletic contests, displays of skill in weaving and other crafts, and dancing after supper.  Toby had to learn how to spit, since I had neglected to teach him this important skill.  Everyone applauded when Merry led the men of the Hall in leaping over the kindled bonfire to bring luck.  The fire was built compactly so there was no real danger, except of jibes and teasing if a jump wasn't impressive enough. 

When the dancing started, I was surprised to find myself asked several times.  The traditional dances were brisk and energetic enough that I did not feel out place.  At the close of one dance with Merimas, I looked over and saw Toby running about with a huge chunk of seed cake.  Esmeralda was at another table, ladling out bowls of jam and cream for the youngsters.  I hesitated, and then excused myself.  Seed cake often seemed to upset Toby's stomach, and that large a portion was sure to do so.  I was waylaid by Merry as I walked by him.   

"Tansy, I'm glad you came," he said, jumping up.

"Yes, thank you, Merry," I said hesitantly.  I felt a little awkward, remembering how originally I'd blamed him for Tory's death.  I looked over his arm to where Toby was crowded in with the other children, inhaling cakes and sweets and what not.  Opal and Esmeralda stood watching over them, smiling indulgently.

"At least one of my favorite cousins attended," he went on. I caught Opal's eye, and pointed to Toby and to my stomach.  She shrugged, but then gently picked Toby up, distracting him with a cornhusk doll.  Merry followed my gaze and rolled his eyes at me in mock reproach.  It wasn't the nature of hobbits to be over-protective of their children, and I knew I probably seemed foolish.  

"So what 'favorite' cousin did not attend?" I asked Merry quickly, wishing to distract him from teasing me. "It looks like everyone in the Hall is here to me."

"Frodo Baggins," Merry replied.  "He is being most un-sociable lately."

I shrugged.  "Wasn't he always that way?" 

"You have the better of me, there." Merry looked troubled under his perpetual grin.

"He threw my brother out of Bag End, once." 

He started. "You mean Sancho?  When?"

I had to laugh at the look on his face.  "Well, Sancho was trying to dig up Bilbo's pantry, as I understand it."

Merry's face cleared.  "Of course, after the famous Party!  Oddly enough, I don't remember that you attended."     

" I was there.  I was in my teens, but so homely, I spent the whole time desperately avoiding everyone I knew."  

"Who could have foretold you would flower so beautifully?" he declaimed loudly.   The remark fell into one of those little silences, and it seemed everyone in Brandy Hall turned to look at us.  I tried to suppress a smile, glad to be there and glad to be joking with him again. 

"Merry Brandybuck, you are a scoundrel," I scolded.  He looked pleased with himself, and taking my hand, led me to the dance floor.

The next morning, Toby refused breakfast as I expected.  

"After eating like a full-grown hobbit last eve, young man," I joked with him, "You may not need to eat for the whole rest of the season!"

His eyes widened. "Really, Mama?" he asked.  

"Well, we'll see," I said. "You pay close attention to your tummy, and tell me when it gets hungry again."

This amused him, and all morning long, he would pause ostentatiously, and then, "My tummy not hungry, Mama!"

He slept longer than usual for his nap that afternoon, and seemed listless and out of sorts when he woke.  He was playing in the bedroom, when I heard him crying.  

"What is it, Toby?" I asked, hurrying in and picking him up.  "Did you fall down, sweetling?"  I noted uneasily how warm his little body felt.

"Tummy hurts, Mama," he sobbed.  "Hurts."

The pit of my stomach turned to ice.  Without another thought, I fled to Opal and Dahlia.  When I burst into their rooms, they were startled and alarmed.  But after hearing his symptoms and examining him closely, Opal smiled with relief.  "Just a stomach-ache, dear," she said calmly.  

I saw the tenseness ease out of Torric's face.  Toby was so like Tory, the old hobbit loved him dearly.  Dahlia smiled, too.  "After stuffing himself like a piglet last night, it's no surprise."  In a low tone to me, she said, "I imagine once the extra comes up one way or out the other, he'll feel fine."  I wrinkled my nose, and she laughed.  

"There's no need to keep Torric up all night," she added.  "Opal and I will come back with you to your rooms.  He'll want sitting up with, I imagine." 

I had felt tears of gratitude sting my eyes.  "Thank you," I'd told her. 


	3. When We Might Meet

**When We Might Meet**

I straightened away from Tory's stone at last, and wiped my eyes.  When I woke up that morning, I had realized with a shock that Tory had been gone for over eight months.  It felt like a lifetime.  

The pressure in my chest began building relentlessly.  I did not want to look at the small stone to my right.  I could just see the stars and clouds incised on it out of the corner of my eye.

My vision began to blur and I stared off for a moment, gathering myself.  When I blinked, a green and white shape suddenly coalesced into that of a solitary figure standing at the edge of the cemetery.  He was looking down steadily at the graves before him.  How long had he been there?  I felt a surge of anger at the interruption.  I'd never seen anyone else here before.  After all, it was not the way of hobbits to moon around over the dead all day.

I couldn't bring myself to turn with him standing there.  I took a deep breath and waited.  After several minutes, the silent figure still had not moved.  Was he even breathing?  I tried to remember who was buried over in that corner. It was fairly recent.  A sibling of Old Rory's who had died young?  A sister?  In a flash, I realized what had eluded me.  It was Primula and Drogo Baggins who were buried there.  So, most likely, the person standing there so quietly was….Frodo Baggins.

_What are you doing here?  _I fumed inwardly.  _Why aren't you back in Hobbiton where you can hide with your devoted servant to care for you?  _When the figure's shoulders twitched, I realized with a shock that I had spoken aloud.  He turned to peer at me over the graves, and I saw it was indeed Frodo.

"Are you addressing me?"

"Not at all, I was mistaken," I said hastily. "My apologies."  I bowed my head.  _Now he will surely go_.  Instead, I heard footsteps crunching toward me through the heat-seared grasses.

Keeping my eyes determinedly on the ground, I saw a pair of feet come to a halt before me.  They were dirty and scratched as if the owner had walked a long way since the day had begun.  "True, I live in Hobbiton, and am lucky enough to have a devoted servant.  But most are too polite to speak of it, especially when one is standing in a cemetery."

Cursing under my breath, I raised my eyes.  He was wearing fine green breeches and a plain white shirt with a russet vest.  It took me a moment to grasp that the pallor in his face was not just the morning light washing the color from him. 

He seemed much thinner and I wondered about the aforementioned 'difficulty settling' he'd had.  He looked back at me with the same puzzling recognition.  I knew I had aged a thousand years from the happy lass he had once been acquainted with.

"Why, Tansy, it's been so long…."  His voice trailed off, as he took in where I sat. He flushed brick red, looking away.  "I'm very sorry for your loss, Tansy," he said quietly.

"It has been difficult, but it will get better," I managed, in one of the time-honored Hobbit responses to sympathy.  Today, the inane pleasantry struck me as so ridiculous I nearly started giggling.

"Will it?" he asked.  I looked up at him, startled, even shocked at the question.

"Yes, I believe it will," I stammered.

"Do you?" he asked, looking at me steadily.  His eyes were a dull cloudy blue, not at all the gorgeous ocean-blue I had heard silly young lasses giggling over. "Because sometimes I find myself doubting that things will get better.  And fearing that they will get considerably worse."

I could think of absolutely no polite response to make. I finally said,  "I'm sorry but I don't understand…"

"Yes, I know."  He started to turn away and then looked past me at the very stone I was trying to avoid seeing.  "Unusual," he said quietly.

"Beyond the circles of the world," I said, biting my lip to keep my voice calm.  I held up my hand to forestall comment and continued.  "I know it's an outlandish quotation that only proves that I am mad with grief."  I looked at him defiantly, wondering if this would cause him to make his excuses and shuffle off.

He seemed to read my look.  "I like it, actually.  And many thought Bilbo was quite mad, but I always found his company perfectly agreeable."  He gestured to the ground.  "May I?"

I shrugged, and he dropped gracefully down next to me.   I was congratulating myself on my composure when the rest of the stone's lettering finally leaped into my vision.

_Tobas Brandybuck, 1416-1420, beloved child_

I turned away from Frodo and confronted the stone.  The words were still there.  And Toby was still dead.

"It seemed like a stomachache," I said, hardly aware I was speaking.

"Did it?"

"Yes, just a stomach ache after the May Day feast.  How inane, how absurd is that?  I thought I'd seen the worst of death when my mother died or Tory, but Toby… "

I felt a movement next to me and realized that Frodo was holding out his handkerchief.  I took it silently and wiped my eyes.  I glanced over at him.  He was sitting quietly, seeming very self-contained and peaceful.  A little breeze swept across us just then, and blew his hair back away from his face.  I was suddenly frozen, remembering.

_Remembering my Tory and my Toby… _It was one of those long lazy days following the day Tory returned from a gadabout.  We nearly always spent that time lounging about, re-acquainting ourselves with each other and with Toby.  Sometimes we would paddle, or even take out one of the small boats of the Brandybucks.  Tory had taught me how to handle myself in the water, but I still was not as comfortable as he and Toby were.  

That day, Toby had made a beeline for the water, and Tory had followed him and kept his toddling feet steady.  It was early and already Toby was turning brown.  There was a sudden gust of wind, and Tory had squinted off into the distance, and then pointed.  I turned and looked back, seeing the thunderheads building up in the East..  So much for paddling that day.  Tory had lifted Toby up on his shoulder, and the freshening wind blew in their faces, flattening their hair back and revealing the similarities in their facial structure.

I had stood on the bank, watching them walk toward me, feeling as if I could never be any happier than I was at that small moment in time.  I could see them now, walking toward me, the wind blowing against them, but they didn't seem to be getting any closer.  They were receding, the wind was blowing them away from me, and Toby held his little arms out to me pleadingly.  "Mama!"

I was sitting in a golden-lit cemetery, watching Frodo Baggins' hair blow back away from his face.  I looked at him, and saw the beauty in the bones and lines of his face.  Even pale and thin, he was as gorgeous as an angel.  Why had he come here?  

I closed my eyes, trying to master myself.  Why had he returned?  I wanted to pound that beautiful skull into the stone before me.  I hated him.  Tory had left me to rescue him and for what?  So that he could live in peace in his beautiful hole.  What right had he to live and be so beautiful when my husband and child were in the cold ground?

I opened my eyes to find him watching me.  He looked as if he felt he should say something but was unsure of what to say.  I was so very familiar with that look.  He opened his mouth, but I spoke first, with a malicious edge.

"So, Frodo, tell me all about your travels.  Went to Mordor, didn't you?"

He flinched visibly, and looked away hastily.  I felt a twinge of conscience but ignored it.  _Maybe now he will leave me in peace._  A little silence fell between us.  

Then he cleared his throat and said slowly, almost tonelessly:  "I was at the Battle of Bywater, Tansy.  Shall I tell you all about it?"

It was my turn to flinch, and look away.  I clenched my hands into fists, feeling a mixture of remorse, anger, and recognition.  I had no right to taunt him so.  I could see something had hurt him terribly.  

He began to shift onto his knees, preparing to get up and I couldn't bear to have him leave thinking so ill of me.  I put a hand on his arm.  "I'm sorry," I said.  "I don't know what came over me to say something so unkind. Please don't leave."

He hesitated a moment, then sat down again.  "I understand," he said reluctantly.  "I know only too well what can come over one."  His face tightened for an instant, as if he were near tears, then eased.

"Few will refer to my travels to my face, you know," he said, thoughtfully.

"I've heard a few whispers here and there."

He looked startled.  "What do they say?  I wouldn't think anyone would be interested, truly. "

"Perhaps not the men, but women are always interested when someone comes to a bad end.  Especially one so well-favored to begin with."

He looked astonished at this, and I shook my head at myself.  I was being rudely frank.  Dahlia would be most displeased with me if she heard of this conversation.

"Bad end?  Well-favored?" he repeated.

"The handsomest and richest bachelor in Hobbiton could not be considered anything other than well-favored," I answered impatiently.  "And if he foolishly runs off on some adventure and comes home ill and melancholic, most hobbits would think that a bad end."

He stared at me with a curious mix of emotions on his face.  He looked down and closed his eyes and his shoulders began to shake.  I felt a surge of alarm—I hadn't meant to drive him to tears!  I reached over and patted his shoulder cautiously.  He threw his head back and a peal of laughter echoed around the cemetery.  I pulled my hand back, as he got himself under control.

"I'm sorry," he said.  "I'm not laughing at you.  To think what hobbits consider a 'bad end', it quite overcame me."

I was unused to being laughed at.  "I see." My curiosity prompted me to ask,  "So what is a bad end, that a hobbit definition amuses you so?"

The smile died on his lips.  "I don't believe that you would truly like to know the answer to that, Tansy.  Surely you can imagine…"

I shook my head argumentatively.  "Tory died fighting ruffians to save the Shire.  My child died of an illness," my voice shook for a moment, then steadied.  "Neither of those is a 'bad end'.  An end, yes, but not a bad one."  I blinked back tears and focused on Frodo again. "So, no, Frodo, I don't think I can imagine."

He pursed his lips for a moment, staring off into the distance.  And, with something of a jerk, I remembered my plans for the day.  _What are you doing, Tansy? _ I thought in some frustration.  _I thought you were trying to get rid of Mr. Baggins, not prise his life story out of him! _  I shifted to get up and he looked over at me.

"I thought you wanted to hear about my travels."

"Yes, but I began to think you wanted to be alone," I answered.

"Not at all, I merely needed to marshal my thoughts."  I looked closely at his face, and saw nothing amiss.  After fussing over the definition of 'bad end', I could not leave now without impressing him with my own oddity, to be sure.  And hobbits acting that odd generally got marched off to concerned relations and given tonics.  I would play for time, and hope to be excused…say, at elevenses?  I sighed.  The Baggins family was notoriously long-winded.  Perhaps I could escape him at lunchtime.

Without further ado, he launched into an account of Bilbo's final party.  I was amused to note that he apparently assumed I was too young to have attended.

"And next day, I had charge of the various small legacies Bilbo had left behind.  It was vexing because there was more than a few who seemed to think the entire household was being given away.  Some young hobbits seemed to think they would be able to dig up Bilbo's legendary gold," He paused and laughed.  "In fact, your brother Sancho was one."

"Yes, he told us he had been thrown out.  Grandfather was exceedingly annoyed. I pointed out that good guests usually do not begin excavations in unused rooms, and Father boxed his ears.  He'd left that part out."

Frodo looked at me in surprise.  "You speak as if you were there, but I don't remember you."

"Well, I was seventeen and rather insecure so I avoided everyone I knew.  Bilbo left Grandfather a book.  He was more outraged by that than by your treatment of Sancho."

Frodo chuckled.  "I think I remember which book, too. Wasn't it a copy of some of Bilbo's translations?"

"Yes, and the tag said, _For Odo Proudfoot, for his instruction_.  Grandfather almost burned it.  'Foreign trash!' he said.  'A respectable hobbit needs naught of that sort!' "  I had to smile, thinking back to the scene.  I had rescued the little book, planning to annoy Grandfather with it later.

Frodo went on with his tale.  "After Lobelia and Otho had left, Gandalf came 'round and said he was off to do some research, concerning part of my inheritance.  He advised me to keep this a secret and said he would visit when able."  He glanced at me sideways for a moment.

I leaned forward interestedly.  "Part of your inheritance?  I've never heard that before.  What was it?  Something Bilbo had got on his travels?"

Frodo was quiet for a moment, and then asked me, "Was your marriage arranged, Tansy, or was it a love-match?"

I was startled by the change of subject, and then I realized why he'd done it.  He'd come to some difficult part of his story, and was having second thoughts about confiding in some gossipy third-cousin once removed he barely knew.  This was the perfect opportunity for me to take offense and storm off.  And yet, I hesitated.  As I rationalized it to myself, having a row with Frodo Baggins was not the exit I had imagined.

"The best of both, actually," I eventually answered.  "A love-match that we convinced our elders to arrange for us.  Tory was a friend of Sancho's and we were always fond of each other.  I knew how I felt quite early.  And when the time came to choose me a husband, my grandfather was more than ready to consider him."  

Even nine months after his death, it was still difficult to speak of my Tory at times. I took refuge in a line of poetry that our conversation had brought to mind. _"The Sundering Seas between them lay, and yet at last they met once more, and long ago they passed away, in the forest singing sorrowless."_

"How do you know that bit of poetry?" Frodo's brows were drawn together in consternation.

"It's out of that book of Bilbo's, of course," I said, wondering at his question.  Surely he knew it himself?

"You read it?"

"Yes, I thought anything that angered Grandfather so must be interesting.  I found the poetry beautiful, though sad," I replied, vexed at his obvious surprise.  "I still have it, in fact. I understand it a bit better now."   He was still apparently speechless at the wonder of a woman reading.  "Speaking of Bilbo,  is he…is he still well?"

He smiled, affection shining clearly in his eyes.  "Yes, and next year will pass the old Took in age.  He is at the Elven refuge of Rivendell.  Soon to pass over sea."

I looked at him in wonder.  "Into the Uttermost West?"  Songs and stories…

He nodded, looking sad.  After a moment, he cleared his throat.  "I guess I should continue on with my story?  The item Bilbo had left me was a magic golden ring. As you guessed, he had come upon it in his adventures."

I listened quietly, considering his reaction.  I was amused at the irony.  I had earlier worried about Frodo thinking me odd.  But it seemed if he judged me by his own standards, I would have to act oddly indeed to make any impression on him.  As he recounted Gandalf's final test and revelations to me, it seemed more than ever like a fairy-story, told for amusement while we two sat in the heat of an August day.

He wound his tale through the Shire, to Buckland, and through the Old Forest.  Most of this was not new to me, for their journey had been extensively discussed in the upheaval following the disappearance.  And Tory had told me of Shire folk seeing strange Big Folk dressed in black, and riding black horses. 

While none would consider spending the night in the Old Forest, Bucklanders did go into it occasionally. It seemed a certain age was reached which nothing would settle but to brave the Forest for a time, and then brag of it later.  Tory had taken me in once, and we had stayed right close to the gate.  Though he had whispered of the menace in the air, I sensed nothing.  I hadn't seen any trees moving of their own accord, either.

When Frodo described Tom and their rescue, however, I was genuinely astounded.  "You mean this being lives in the Old Forest, right on the borders of the Shire?" I interrupted. "And it's not an elf or a troll…or an orc?"

"I can only repeat his description of himself.  He called himself Eldest. He is none of those things.  When I finish, you will see what a puzzle he is.  He lives there still, Gandalf visited him on our journey home."

I took his polite hint, and settled back to let him finish.  He had a wonderfully pleasant voice, and an even, well-modulated style of speaking.  When he spoke of the lady Goldberry, he stammered a bit for the first time since beginning to speak.

I grinned.  " Why, Frodo, it sounds as if you quite admired this lady!"

"She was very beautiful," he admitted.  "I saw beautiful ladies in my time away, but she was more.  She emanated kindness and warmth, like a fire in the hearth…" He saw the look on my face, and blushed brightly.  "But she plays little role in this story.  After we left Tom, we strayed into the Barrow-downs and were nearly killed by a wight."

When he finished telling of the encounter with the wight and their entry into Bree, we heard the lunch-bell ringing.  I was startled.  I had not even noticed that elevenses had passed. "My, luncheon already and only to Bree!" I exclaimed.

He shrugged. "I hope I have not bored you too greatly.  And that you don't think too badly of me now."

"Think badly?" I repeated, surprised.  "Why would I?"

"With the wight, I felt like I wanted to disappear. …and leave my friends behind."

I didn't want to diminish his trust by giving him an easy reassurance.  I said slowly, "I don't believe courage or cowardice lies in the content of one's thoughts, Frodo.  Anyone in such a position would wish for an easier way.  But wishes are only wishes, and in the end, one's actions and choices are what we must judge by."

"Yes, I agree with that," he said.  His voice sounded bitter and sad.  But when he raised his face up to me, it was calm.  "I will walk you back, Tansy," he went on, "It's the least I can do.  You were an excellent audience."

When he stood up and offered me his hand, I noticed the missing finger.  I glanced up at him, and saw how tight his eyes and mouth seemed.  Did he expect me to shrink back from him, or stare, or ask how on earth he'd done it?  

I smiled, and said  "Thank you" and took his hand.  I clasped it firmly, sliding my fingers around his.  I pulled myself up with a tug that rocked him on his feet before he steadied and completed the motion with a surprising strength.  The tightness in his face relaxed, and he gave me a brilliant smile.  I was taken aback at the force of the Baggins charm on full. An answering smile curved across my face, and chatting of minor matters, we returned to the Hall.

Dahlia was pacing back and forth impatiently when I opened the door.  "I didn't think you would be so long, Tansy," she began reproachfully.  She stopped abruptly when Frodo followed me into the room.

"Your daughter-in-law was kind enough to chat with me this morning, Mrs. Brandybuck, and I selfishly made her late to lunch," he said politely.

"Why, how nice to see you, Mr. Baggins," Dahlia exclaimed.  "Won't you have some luncheon with us?"

"I would enjoy it, Mrs. Brandybuck, but Merry is expecting me." He nodded and smiled pleasantly to us both, and left.

Dahlia looked at me speculatively for a long moment, but said nothing.  I was glad.  I suddenly didn't want to try and explain anything to her. The rest of that day passed quietly enough.  I busied myself with some stitching, and Dahlia announced she had some visiting to do and would see me at supper.  

Opal wanted all the details of my chat with Mr. Baggins, but I said that we had discussed only common matters, such as the weather and the harvest.  I felt not a twinge at the dishonesty.  I felt rather protective of the things he had told me.  I was sure he would not wish them bandied about as common gossip.  I found myself wondering more than once where the story went from Bree.

After supper, someone tapped on my door.  Opal was up like a flash and had the door open before I could say a word.  Merry entered.  He said something quietly to Opal, and she smiled broadly and went out.  He came over and sat in the big chair next to my rocker.

"Hullo, Merry, how are you?"  The evenings were always difficult.  It was so quiet.

"Is it all right that I told Opal I wished to speak with you privately?" he said grinning. "And at great length?"

"Oh, Merry…"   I didn't have the energy to yell at him.  He knew full well the talk that would be about the Hall tomorrow.

He turned serious, and took my hand.   "Tansy, I wanted to thank you for spending time with Frodo today.  He seemed quite cheerful at lunch."

"Oh, you needn't thank me, anyone would do the same," I answered distractedly.

"No, actually, very few would," he replied.

I was taken aback.  "Say again?"

"Tansy, you haven't heard much of the news lately, isn't that right?   Frodo had…a difficult time, and it may be a while before he is properly himself again.  I hoped a visit would cheer him up.  But then, everyone sees him acting so gloomy…   Do you see the problem?"   I did, only too well.  Hobbits are unused to handling sicknesses of the mind and heart, and their best-intentioned responses could hurt like acid.

"I have a favor to ask of you during Frodo's visit," he went on.  "I wonder if you would be so good as to spend some time with him each day.  I wish to give him less time to brood."

I shook my head in annoyance.  Merry's plan seemed to be to let the mad resident of Brandy Hall entertain the mad visitor from Bag End.  I was too fond of Merry to refuse him, so I gave over my promise with no resistance.  As he left he warned me to say nothing to Frodo, for fear of angering him.

  _More likely, you don't wish any to know what a softhearted meddling goodwife you are, Merry._

Afterwards, I sat in my rocker and read over the little book of poetry by B. Baggins.  The room was so dreadfully quiet.  I could hear every breath I took.  Only recently had Opal and Dahlia decided I was fit to take care of myself at night.  

It had never been quiet before, even when everyone was asleep.  A husband and child make such a noise and take up so much space.  I dropped the little book and climbed into bed, clutching Tory's shirt and Toby's blanket.

"Just a little stomach-ache," I'd told Frodo.  Just a small complaint.   Such a simple thing to have destroyed my life.  I picked up a little glass bottle from under my washstand.  I turned it in my hand, looking at the flower and skull drawn on the label, before removing the wand.  I licked it meditatively, suppressing a grimace at the bitter, stinging taste.

**********************************

_We'd given Toby willow-tea_, and his pain and fever seemed to ease.  He fell asleep as the May Day celebration went on, with singing and sometimes giggling in the hallways.  Opal, Dahlia and I had sat up chatting, checking on him as the night progressed.  I had dozed off when some sudden activity woke me.  I sat up and looked around.  The moon was down, making it quite late.  I walked into Toby's room and gasped.  Opal and Dahlia had stripped his clothing and draped his little body with damp cloths.  His face was pale, and he was murmuring something, eyes closed.

They looked up at me, and I knew something was horribly wrong.  "What is it?" I cried.  I grabbed his little hand and knelt down next to him.  His hand was damp and fiercely hot.  I had never felt flesh so hot.  I swallowed down a wail of anguish.  "Why didn't you wake me?"

"We were about to," Opal said.

"We've sent for the healer," Dahlia added.

I brought my head down to his, and kissed his hot forehead.  Then I heard what he was murmuring.  "Mama, mama, mama…" My tears dripped on his face, and I began rinsing out cloths and laying them on him.  The heat of his body had already dried some of the cloths.  I saw his hands jerk slightly when I was bathing his arms.  Suddenly, wild tremors raced up both arms until his torso was jerking with the force of them.  His eyes flew open, and he gave a tiny cry, as if he had no strength.  The tremors stopped and he began crying miserably.  I gathered him up and looked at Opal and Dahlia in horror.

"It's a fever fit," Opal said, quietly.

"What- what do we do then?"

Dahlia looked tired.  "We need to put him in the bath."

When the healer arrived, we had immersed him a bath of cold water, and managed to force some more tea down his throat.   Her face was solemn as she examined him.  As she ran her hands across his abdomen, he cried out in pain.  At last, she sat back with a sigh.  "Well?" I asked.

"Keep on trying to bring his fever down," she said.  "I think oil of fennel, perhaps dandelion will help.  I'll get it from the stores and be right back."

A few minutes after she left, Toby began to shiver.  "His fever's breaking," Opal said, gladly.  "Let's get him out and dried off."  When we had him tucked back into bed, his eyes opened again.  He reached out to me, and I cuddled him close.  "Tired, mama, so tired," he muttered.

"I know, it's all right, sweetie," I whispered.  "Rest, and mommy will rock you."

When the healer returned, she was glad to see he was awake.  She slipped a teaspoon of fennel oil in his mouth quickly, and followed it with a decoctation of dandelion leaves.  "There, perhaps that will help," she murmured.

Her choice of words was not lost on me. "What is wrong with him?"

She hesitated. "I cannot say for sure."

"Then what do you think?"

She sighed again.  "As a cut or a wound can go bad, so can a person's insides.  I don't know why this happens, but I have seen it a few times.  There is pain and fever, and the belly gets hard and rigid. Sometimes the body will fight it off."

"Sometimes?"

She looked at me sympathetically.  "And sometimes, the person will die of it."

I felt the world spinning about me.  It could not be.  It simply could not be.  There was no way Toby could be dying. He stirred in his sleep, and I bent my head and inhaled his soft fragrance.  He still smelled like a baby.  It was not possible that he could be so sick.  And yet, within two hours, he had begun to heat again.

I clung to hope longer than anyone through the nightmare days that followed.  Whenever the fever subsided, we dosed him frantically with willow tea, dandelion, fennel, chamomile, sage, anything I or the healer had ever heard of to help with stomach problems.  I made sure he drank plenty of water so the fever wouldn't dry his body out.  Despite everything, he weakened steadily.  

As the healer had predicted, his little belly grew rigid, and painful so that to even brush it made him cry out.  His fevers were so fierce that his little body jerked regularly in the fits.  The fevers sent him out of his head, and he would cry out and thrash around, calling for me, calling for Tory, for Granny and Gramps. Three days after that first night, when the fever subsided again, I took him in my arms.

I stared long into his face, trying to burn it into my memory.  His once-rosy cheeks were pale and sunken.  His small body seemed wasted, too, and his belly was swollen.  _So much pain,_ I thought wearily, _Great ones, would you take my life and spare him? Please spare him._  Even as my mind formulated the thought, I knew it would not happen.  My baby was dying, and it was close at hand.  Torric stood over me, bright tears in his eyes, the lines of his age carved painfully in his face.  Dearest Opal had sat down 'for just one moment' and fallen asleep.  Dahlia sat next to me, holding one of Toby's feet.  She held it cradled in one palm, and ran her fingers over it gently, caressingly.

"I love you, Toby," I said softly.  "Mama loves you so much."  

His brown eyes opened.  This was a familiar ritual for us.  "Love my mama," he said haltingly.

"This much," I finished, opening my arms wide for a moment.  A smile trembled on his lips.  Then a spasm ran over his body, and he began to cry weakly.

"Hurts, it hurts. Make it stop, Mama."

The healer touched my shoulder.  "Give him this, Tansy," she said.  She held a teaspoonful of some oil.  I looked at the bottle in her hand, labeled with a picture of a poppy and the skull.  Distillation of poppies.  It had no virtue except to ease pain.  It was powerful and dangerous, and rarely used.  Except in cases of last resort.

I eased it into his mouth, and cuddled him close again.  His small form was hot against me.  Despite the fever, the drug did its work and soon he relaxed into sleep.

I leaned back into the chair wearily.  I was so tired.  I felt as if I could sit here with him forever, if only I were permitted to.  I must've dosed off then, for the next thing I remember is his body beginning to cool.  Hope surged in my breast.  The fever was breaking again, perhaps this time for good. 

I sat up abruptly, and looked down into his face.  He was so relaxed, and very pale.  There was a subtle peace in his face that I'd not seen for days.  As I stared at him, I heard Opal wail.  Torric fell on his knees, and bowed his head.  I looked at them in confusion, and over at Dahlia.  The tears in her eyes spilled as she said, "He's gone, Tansy."

I felt myself beginning to shake.  "No," I told her.  "The fever's come down again, maybe for good this time…. He can't be dead."  Dahlia looked old.  Normally, she took good care of herself, but today she looked very old.  She tried to take Toby out of my arms.  "What are you doing?"  I pulled away violently, and nearly knocked her to the floor.

Opal stood up. "Tansy, dear, give Toby to us.  We'll lay him out." Her voice cracked on the last words.  How many had Opal had to lie out in her time?

It seemed my heart knew better than my mind, or else why were tears running down my face?  "He's not dead," I repeated.  I looked down at him, and shifted him a bit. "Toby, wake up.  Wake up, sweetling, Granny wants to see you."  His face was slack, the skin growing cooler by the minute. He was too cool.  I needed to warm him up.  

I pulled him close until his face was snuggled into the curve of my neck. "Toby.  Toby! Toby!"  I heard myself screaming his name.  Opal's face crumpled as she dissolved into sobs.  "He-is-not-dead.  He's not…." I could not go on.  I finally sank down to my knees and keened out my anguish, cradling my baby against me.

**********************************

That hot August night in 1420, I turned over in bed restlessly,  picturing the crowd at Toby's memoriam.  I was still far too wide-awake.  I lifted the wand from the bottle and sucked on it absently.  This time, I didn't even notice the taste.   I remembered that everyone in Brandy Hall turned out.  

**********************************

_I had stood_ next to Opal and Dahlia, while tears ran unchecked down my face.  Opal sniffed into a hankie, but Dahlia stood dry-eyed. When the moment came and we were expected to leave, my legs began to tremble.   I struggled not to throw myself to the ground and wail and tear my hair and generally make a spectacle of myself.  Dahlia's iron-like grip on my elbow helped keep me upright.  We had walked partway back to the Hall before I balked.

Dahlia looked at me blankly.  "Tansy, we must go back and make an appearance at the funeral supper."

I choked at the thought of trying to eat just then.  At that moment, I had completely forgotten everything that Dahlia had done in the last year. "I will not- not- NOT go and make conversation," I managed to say, almost pleadingly.  "I was his mother.  His mother.  Don't you understand?"

For a moment, Dahlia's face began to crumple and I felt a rush of mean-spirited satisfaction.  She put her hands over her face, and took a deep breath.  Then she removed her hands, still dry-eyed, and said in a steady voice, "You set too much store on that child, Tansy.  You have a long life before you yet.  You will have other children."

Opal tutted disapprovingly.  "This is not the time, 'Lia," she said.

I felt myself beginning to shake.  "I will not have any more children," I told her.   "Fine, I will go and make an appearance.  But I will not pull myself together.  What for?  There is nothing."  At the supper, I stood silently for a bit, making no attempt to hide the tears in my eyes.   The guests avoided eye contact and shuffled their feet uneasily.  I started when a felt a touch on my arm.

It was Merry, looking at me sorrowfully.  "I will miss him, Tansy.  I'm so terribly sorry."

I felt the tears starting up again, but he didn't look away or flinch.  "Thank you."

He put one arm around me and hugged me to him.  "Is there anything I can do?" he asked softly.

I shook my head.  "No.  There is nothing." I felt a huge rush of fatigue then.  Shrugging away from him, I left the supper and went straight to bed.  I stayed there for three days.

In the month that followed, I was never alone.  Either Opal or Dahlia stayed with me, day and night, coaxing me to eat, nagging me to sleep.   I moved mostly in a daze.  I could not comprehend how quickly and easily my life had fallen apart.  A thousand times, I wished I'd stayed home from the feast, although the healer had told me over and over again that there was no way to tell what brought the illness on. 

Opal and Dahlia quietly packed his and Tory's things up one morning while I was out for a walk.  They saved a single shirt of Tory's, and Toby's favorite shirt, poppet, and blanket. When I returned home, I cried and raged at them for that. They were implacable.

"It does you no good to cling to the dead like this, Tansy," Dahlia said, firmly.  "You need to move on with your life."

"What life?" I sobbed, burying my face in Toby's blanket.  "What life?"

Opal was ashen.  "I know, dear girl, I know," she said.  "But you must force yourself to think past this moment, and this pain.  Now please consider coming with us to dinner tonight?"

I stood up, still holding the blanket. "I will not," I screamed at her.  Then I ran to my bedroom and slammed the door.  The rest of the summer slipped by, golden days filled with swimming and berry picking.  

After that first month, Opal and Dahlia began to leave me alone occasionally.  But I still had no enthusiasm for any activities, despite Opal's continued pleas and Dahlia's barely-restrained impatience. Merry came to my door once or twice, but I refused to see him or anyone else except Tory's family.  If I met someone on my daily trek to the cemetery, I said little and hurried away. 

**********************************

I turned my head and looked at the bottle on the washstand.  The flower  label caught a stray gleam of moonlight and glittered.  _So beautiful…._  My thoughts were beginning to slide gently out of focus.   

I had just given Merry a promise that would delay my joining Tory and Toby beyond the circles of this world for at least a fortnight.  I was so alone.  Why had I promised him?  I was so alone and this bed was so cold.  I curled up on my side, tears rolling silently down my face.


	4. Not Pale, but Fair

**Not Pale, But Fair**

The next morning dawned cloudless and bright.  Immediately after breakfast, I headed out to the cemetery.  Despite my excesses the night before, I felt fine, with no headache.  _I have such a good constitution,_ I thought in amusement.  _Why, I might live another 90 years_!   I laughed under my breath as I went through the small cemetery gate.    _Might, but I doubt it._

Even at this early hour, Frodo was standing as he had the previous day, before his parents' graves.  He did not look over as I sat down in my usual spot.  _My darling, how are you?_  _I'm helping Merry out with something.  Remember Frodo Baggins? He's having some sort of problem and I've promised to help cheer him up for a bit.  I wish you were here.  You would be excellent company.  How you'd set the company roaring when we'd go to feasts and such.  I'm afraid I'll be very poor company, but he is a Baggins, so if I just nod in the right places he should be happy._  

I took a deep breath before turning to the other. It was always so much more difficult to address my little one.  _Mommy loves you, Toby.  I love you, baby…so much._  I dug my fingers into the turf and tried to compose myself.  _Not very cheery now, are you? _After what seemed an endless time, I wiped my eyes and looked over.  Frodo was still over there but he had sat down. I cleared my throat, and he looked up.  

"Hullo, Tansy," he said quietly.

"I don't mean to disturb you, Frodo, but would you care to tell me any more of your adventure?  I've been wondering what happened after Bree."   I had decided that this would be the most logical reason for the daily visits I'd promised Merry.  _It's early, I'll get this over with promptly_, I thought, congratulating myself for not procrastinating. 

He hesitated a long moment, staring off into the fields to the south. Then he stood and walked over. I noticed that today he was dressed far more casually than yesterday, in more green breeches with a light green shirt.  I thought uncharitably that green did nothing for his looks; in fact, it made him appear rather sickly.  His coloring was unusual for a hobbit.  His hair was so dark as to be nearly black, paired with blue eyes and a light complexion.  As he sat down, he looked over at me and raised an eyebrow.  "What is it?"  

I felt badly that my thoughts had been visible on my face.   "Nothing important.  I was struck by the idea that a blue or white shirt would be more becoming is all."

He glanced down at his shirt and then back at me.  "Really?" he said with apparently genuine interest.  "But why bother?"

"No reason, especially.  Except for the way that green makes you look like you're about to be sick.  But perhaps you are feeling ill?  In which case…"  Here I moved away from him, leaving some space between us.

He laughed, which brought some color to his cheeks.  "No, Tansy, I won't be sick on you. It's safe to sit near me. Next time I see you, I will try to be wearing a shirt that will meet with your approval."

"Well, it's not for me to say how you should dress," I cautioned hastily.  

"It's my pleasure," he said firmly.  "I was delighted when no one approached me yesterday, asking about how I'd met old Tom in the Forest."

I took the point at once. I hadn't gossiped about his story, contrary to expectations for most hobbit-wives.

"I thought it would be so, and I'm glad to be proved correct," he finished.  He had never said in so many words that he did not wish this repeated, and I was glad I had guessed properly.  I grumbled to myself.  _How like a man!_ Never say clearly what they want and then take all the credit for being high-minded and noble when another's actions turn out as they wish. 

"Once in Bree, we continued on to the Prancing Pony.  I admit, I was unsure what course to take, and hoped to have some time for reflection.  Unfortunately, we went into the common room before dinner and that proved a mistake."

I settled back on my elbows and listened attentively as he told of the 'accident' in Bree.  "You stood on a table and sang?"

He looked resigned.  "It seemed to make sense at the time."

"And I don't believe I've heard the song you're describing," I exclaimed.  "A cow that jumped over the moon?  How…quaint.  I wonder if I heard it if I would recognize it."

He slanted his eyes at me.  "I am not singing it." 

He went on to talk about Strider, Barliman Butterbur and his forgotten errand.  "He said he'd been given a description of Mr. Underhill and that I met it."

"Indeed?  What was this description?"

He glanced over suspiciously, but my face was perfectly composed.  "Taller than some and fairer than most.  With a bright eye and a cleft chin."  He flushed and finished: " A stout fellow with red cheeks."

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to maintain my sober expression.  Whatever Frodo had been two years ago, he certainly was not now a 'stout fellow with red cheeks.'

He paused for a moment, chin lifted, to see if I had any comment.  I kept quiet so he started on the night's adventures: Merry's encounter and the destruction of beds and the decoy.  I was startled and disquieted at the dark turn the tale had taken.  

"And yet, with Strider's help, you surely felt more confident," I ventured once. 

"Yes, but…  Have you been close to any of the Big Folk, Tansy?"

I started to laugh, and then realized he was serious. "No, certainly not."

"Strider is an honorable man, a warrior out of the old tales, but wise and long-seeing, as well."  He looked around us and pointed.  "The top of his head would just brush that old limb with the fork in it." My eyes went from the branch to his face and back again.  I tried to picture an armed warrior standing to that height and quailed.   

Frodo was watching me.  He half-smiled and said, "You see, then."  He continued on with leaving Bree, and their travels through the Wild.  He mentioned Strider's goal, a hill called Weathertop, and faltered. He went on in a calm voice about the preparations they had made for camp, and the poetry Strider had recited.  I was looking at the branch again, this time trying to picture a warrior that size preparing for battle.  

"Sam had gone to get wood and came running back.  He said he felt something creeping down the slope."

When I looked at him, he was staring ahead again, his mind far away.  Minutes passed and I began to wonder if I should just leave quietly or say something.  I touched his arm tentatively.  "Frodo?" I asked.

He looked at me, and I was startled by the pain and anger in his eyes.  "We saw the Black Riders advancing toward the dell. And I felt the call the put the Ring on. I struggled against it but then I yielded.  With the Ring on, I could see the Riders clearly.  Their faces were white and haggard; they bore silver swords.  One was crowned.  Everything was confusion, but I remember crying out the name of Elbereth, and stabbing him, in the leg. They could see me quite clearly, as well, and the king stabbed me in return, in the shoulder."  

He took a deep breath and continued in a remote voice. "Later, I learned that by yielding to their command, I made it very easy for them to ensnare me.  Strider fought them, but primarily they withdrew, thinking that I was as good as theirs, that the wound they had dealt would sap my spirit and place my soul under their command." 

I floundered, unsure of what to say or do.  _Blast it all, Merry, what have you gotten me into?  _I was chilled by his words and the mental image I'd had of a Black Rider as tall as a tree.  "You mustn't blame yourself."  __

He made a disbelieving sound.  "If only I hadn't put the Ring on," he began. "That wound torments me to this day."  

"It does?" 

He made no answer, but leaned his chin upon his knees and closed his eyes. I stared at him.  He pressed his lips together firmly, and I realized with a sudden surge of pity that he was near tears.  I hesitated a long moment, still wondering what to do.  Finally, I picked up his hand, and stroked it lightly.  

"Quite the hero," I said.  

He opened his eyes and looked at me angrily. His eyes were amazingly blue with tears standing in them.  "Quite the hero," I repeated.  "His companions, frozen with fear on the ground and he tricked into putting on the Ring.  Still yet managing to strike the enemy.  Could they have expected one stout hobbit to struggle so?"

He closed his eyes again, and two tears tracked down his cheeks.  "I've never claimed to be any sort of hero."

"It's becoming clear to me, Frodo, since you are alive and able to tell me this story, you must be ten times a hero."

He made a small sound, like a bitter, half-choked laugh.  "I don't agree with you, but thank you for your kind words, Tansy."

He swiped his other arm roughly across his face and told me what he remembered of the journey to Rivendell.  The sun was high overhead when he came to his awakening, after being healed by the Elves. He mentioned the summons to the Council of Elrond and paused, no doubt thinking as I did, that it was high time for lunch.  I realized that I was still holding his hand, his fingers curled about mine.  I loosened his grip as inconspicuously as possible, feeling oddly embarrassed. 

"I'm sorry to make you relive such ill memories, Frodo.  A meal would probably do you good, and it must be time for lunch now."

"Yes.  Perhaps in a little while.  Good day, Tansy."  

He didn't move as I got up.  I hesitated.   "Aren't you going to walk me back, then?"

"Do you want me to?" he asked vaguely.  

I held out my hand to him.  "Yes."  _After all_, I reasoned to myself, as we walked away, _I'm sure Merry would not want me to leave him sitting alone in a cemetery.  _He left me at my doorstep and I went in, lost in thought.  Opal had left a tray on the table, with a cold luncheon.  I ate a little and settled down with my knitting.  Blankets, sweaters, socks, and mittens all sprang from my busy needles.  I enjoyed it.  The clack of the needles was soothing, lulling me, and blanking my mind so that I didn't need to think about anything for a time.  

Tilly tapped on my door that afternoon.  She had been a friend when Tory and Toby were alive, but I had not seen much of her lately.  After I greeted her and gave her some tea, she had leaned forward eagerly.  "Tansy, what is going on with Frodo?"  

"Excuse me?"  I was taken aback.  I was unused to anyone talking about or questioning my activities.  What should I say?

"Well, twice now, someone said you talked to him in the cemetery all morning. Is that true? Tell me, is he as odd now as they say?  And I hear he's lost his looks."

I looked at her in irritation.  "Are you pretending you don't know him?  You know him as well as I, if not better."  I had purposely left her question unanswered to give myself a space for thought, but her next words made me flush with indignation.

"Huh!  I used to know a Frodo Baggins.  Quite a catch he was, once, and with beautiful blue eyes, no less.  But I don't think I know him now."  

"He has seemed quite pleasant and polite to me," I said chillingly.  Too late, I realized my mistake.

  "So you have been talking to him!  How interesting.  Whatever do you talk about?  And why in the cemetery?  That seems a most unpleasant place to have a conversation!"

Of course, a cemetery would seem gruesome to Tilly.  She had never lost anyone close to her.  I tried to control my resentment.  "He's told me a bit about his doings and I've told him something of Tory and Toby." 

Her green eyes opened wide.  "My dear, I am surprised.  Really, you should be putting this grief behind you, not going about foisting it on others.  It's very rude to Frodo, and I daresay, he's only being polite to let you go on about it."

"Perhaps you are right. I shall certainly remember that if I see him again."

She added casually.  "You haven't felt social, I know.  I am so flattered, sweetheart.  Am I the first visitor you've seen since the funeral?" 

Tilly already knew the answer to her question, so why was she bothering me?  I forced a smile, and said, "Actually, no.  Merry stopped by last night, and Opal let him in before I could tell her no.  Of course, she was charmed by him."

Her eyes narrowed, and I remembered that her first cousin was Estella Bolger, who'd been all-but-betrothed to Merry for the longest time. "Oh, of course," she agreed.  "Everyone is charmed by Merry, aren't they?  But there are some that it would be best if they were perhaps not charmed." 

Some like myself, perhaps?  I began to feel like dumping the teapot on her head, and controlled myself with an effort.  I smiled pleasantly.  "Tilly, I think you're safe from Merry's charm."

She looked annoyed. She wanted the reason Merry had visited to reassure Estella.  Especially since everyone knew widows were light-skirted. 

I knew I should probably just come out with it.  There was really no sense in delaying the inevitable.  It was quite impossible to keep secrets in Brandy Hall.  Instead, I kept on smiling and didn't say a word.  

She began to look a bit strained…and surprised.  Finally, she got up and murmured her farewells, kissing my cheek coolly.   

After she'd left, I felt more out of step than ever.  My friends would begin to think I was not only mad with grief, but turning eccentric to boot.  Unable to sleep that night, I pulled the little bottle from its hiding place under my washstand.   I fidgeted a bit with wand, lifting it and watching the clear droplets roll down the interior.  I let one droplet only fall on my tongue and put it away.  I felt more sympathy than I should toward the foolhardy Baggins who'd thrown his life away.  I passed a difficult, restless night, and next morning found me again up at dawn.  

I took my time dressing and bathing, since I didn't expect either Opal or Dahlia for some time.  I noticed the dull brown work dresses I had become accustomed to wearing seemed terribly worn. I looked at the clothes in my wardrobe in dissatisfaction.  White… Red… Pink… Yellow…  None of those would do at all.  I paused at a light green dress with a darker underskirt.  Green on Frodo had made him look nauseated.  Green on myself, however….   I held it up experimentally.  With my dark brown eyes and hair, the green looked rather nice.  I put this dress on, and dropped the other in the wash pile.    

I was surprised when neither Dahlia nor Opal came 'round for breakfast.  I waited past the usual time, and then set out for the cemetery.  It did not seem to be my day.  Frodo was not at the cemetery.  I sat down next the graves and let the familiar weight of grief roll over me.  But for the first time in months, I was conscious of a faint wondering of where everyone else was this morning. 

I sat in the cemetery until second breakfast.  Then not allowing myself to question what I was doing, I rose and headed for the dining room.  The warm appetizing smells of cooking filled the air as I neared it.  Esmeralda customarily served a hot second breakfast, with eggs and meats.   Not too many of the residents of Brandy Hall bothered to come down for first breakfast, preferring tea and cakes in their rooms. 

As I walked into the room, I saw Opal, Torric and Dahlia.  Opal's mouth fell open when she saw me.  "Tansy!  You came down for a meal!"

Dahlia clicked her tongue.  "Well, to what or to whom do we owe this pleasure?"

I smiled, hiding my annoyance at the question.  _You've been too solitary_, I chided myself.  _Hobbits always mind each other's business_.   "No particular reason at all. I just missed my favorite relations this morning."

"My dear, sit down and eat then," Torric said.  I looked around and saw Merry sitting just a short distance away.  

"Let me say good morning to Merry, Torric."   Merry was alone, poring over some papers.  When I came over, he looked up and smiled.  

"Hullo, Tansy, looking for Frodo?"  I hesitated, aware of the people at the next table who had stopped eating and looked over at us.  That was Merry, saying whatever came into his fool head with no thought at all as to what people would think.  Besides, I had not come down to the dining hall solely in the hope of finding Frodo there.   

"Certainly not," I said coldly.  I had half a mind to leave without asking him anything further, much less Frodo's whereabouts.  _If you leave in a huff, you'll regret it_, I told myself firmly.   _Before you even get back to your rooms_.  

Merry looked confused.  "Before who gets back?  You're leaving? I thought you were going to eat first."

"Yes, of course," I said impatiently.  "I was just thinking out loud.  And since you bring it up, how fares Mr. Baggins this morning?"   The hobbits looking at us lost interest and returned to their food.

He shrugged.  "I haven't seen him.  I assume he got up late, since he wasn't around at breakfast either.  You could go check.  He's staying in the Blue Room.  Do you know where that is?"

"Oh, I couldn't do that.  I'll just wait and perhaps I'll see him later today.  I hope you appreciate this, by the way."

"Yes, I am grateful," he replied, with a glint suspiciously like laughter in his eyes.

I went back and sat down with Tory's family to eat.  After a bit, Mentha came over to sit next to me.  "Hello, dear," she said easily.  She was my age, Hall-born and bred and we'd always been friendly.  She was a typical Brandybuck: charming, a little roguish, and with flexible attitudes toward things like 'rules'. 

"Good morning, Mentha."  

"What on earth did you do to upset Tilly?  She told me she thought you might be setting your cap for Merry.  Something about a mysterious visit no one seemed to know anything about.  I told her that was ridiculous since I happened to know it was my sister Melilot who was setting her cap for Merry and she nearly hurt herself running off to check it out."

I looked at her reproachfully.  "That wasn't very nice to poor Melilot.  She hasn't the wit to handle Tilly." 

She grinned.  "Poor Melilot deserves it.  I'm sick of her making eyes at my Everard.  He hasn't even noticed, the dear thing, and if he did, he'd be terribly shocked.  Mama keeps saying she'll grow out of this childishness once her marriage is arranged, but I'm none too sure of it myself.  But I notice you haven't said why Merry was visiting.  Just to say hello, welcome back to society?"

"Not quite.  He just asked me to do him a small favor."

Mentha laughed.  "Well, I'll take pity on you and not ask what.  Not empty the Brandywine or knit wool into gems, I hope?  I'm surprised it took Merry this long to find something for you to do.  And don't waste your sympathy on Meli or Tilly.  I heard something else from her, though.  About the melancholic master of Bag End."

"I ran into him quite by chance."  _I did the day before yesterday anyw_ay, I qualified mentally. 

"And?"

I hesitated.  I wasn't sure I could articulate what I thought of Frodo so that she would understand it.  "I just think he had some troubles while he was away, and that perhaps he's a bit saddened by them," I said finally. "I can sympathize with that easily." 

Mentha began to look uncomfortable.  "Well, that makes perfect sense," she said hastily.  "I didn't think it could be anything else.  He's not your type, at all.  He's changed so much I almost didn't recognize him in the hallway last eve."

 After she left, I had some difficulty deciding what to do next.  On the one hand, it was somewhat forward of me to go knocking at his door.  I would be presuming on a long acquaintance but very short friendship.  On the other, I myself knew all too well how easily one could get lost in melancholy, to the exclusion of all else.  That finally decided me. I kissed Tory's family goodbye, saying nothing about where I was going.  

I headed off to the Blue Room, one of Brandy Hall's nicest guest quarters.  It was almost at the back of the Hall, in an out-of-the-way corridor.  The private suites belonging to the family of the Master of the Hall took up most of this wing, so this hallway was nearly always deserted.  

I was standing outside his door, considering the different reasons I could give for intruding on his privacy, when it was pulled open.  We both started rather violently.  I felt a sudden desire to sink into the flagstones.  Frodo recovered first.

"Er, good morning, Tansy," Frodo said, as if it were commonplace to find someone skulking outside his door.   I noted that today he was wearing a blue shirt with dark grey breeches.  The blue was far more becoming, emphasizing his unusual eyes, and the fairness of his skin.

"Would you like to come in?" he continued politely. I nodded mutely, and he stood aside and gestured me in.  The room was somewhat mussed. A red leather book was thrown across the table, open to a page covered with incongruously neat script. 

I finally found my voice.  "I'm sorry for imposing on you like this, but I noticed you weren't around at second breakfast and I wanted to say hello as I'll be busy with other things the rest of the day."  This was the excuse I had decided on for dropping by. 

He had picked up a teacup and was filling it as I spoke.  When I finished, he handed it to me with a slight frown.  "I see.  I'm sorry I didn't see you this morning, then. I will miss our discussion." He sat down at the small table with a sigh.  I looked at him closely and saw the circles around his eyes.    

 "You look tired, Frodo.  Didn't you sleep last night?" I asked him. 

He smiled faintly.  "I did not sleep well, but that is not uncommon. I should apologize.  I was doing some writing and the time slipped away from me.  Otherwise, I would have met you this morning."

I sipped my tea as he added sugar and milk to his.  Why did everyone keep going on about him losing his looks?  True, he was thinner and somewhat paler than the conventional standard, but what of it?  I made up my mind to stay a bit.  Besides, I wanted to hear about the Council of Elrond. "Well, I have some time now if you're willing to continue."

He looked surprised.  "Very well, then.  I guess I had left off just before the Council?  I was summoned to the Council of Elrond on my second day at Rivendell."  As he talked, he played with the book on the table, flicking idly through the pages, and referring to the maps drawn in it.  I was hard put to it to conceal my amazement and admiration as he spoke easily of meeting elf-lords and dwarf–lords and wizards as peers, deciding how to defeat the enemy. He said little of his offer to take the Ring to Mordor.  Only that it seemed appropriate.  I was enthralled with his account of the snow on Caradhras, and made him repeat it twice over.  When the lunch-bell rang, he had just finished recounting Caradhras' defeat of the Fellowship and their flight to Moria.  

"You speak so well," I said when he paused.  "Why, I could almost feel the snow from your description.  And you look chilled even." His hand was cold when I picked it up from the table.  "You've even convinced your hands, see?" I said teasingly, lacing my fingers through his.

He jerked his hand out of mine, and I looked at him in surprise.  "That hand is often cold," he said awkwardly.  "It's an aftereffect of that wound I told you of."  

I caught my breath.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't know."  

"That's all right.  How would you?" He looked away and busied himself with the teakettle, replacing it in its holder over the fireplace.  "I think I will go down to luncheon now.  Would you like to join me?"

I felt disinclined to join the loud busy meal in the Hall.  "I'm afraid I cannot, Frodo.  I have some other things to do."

"I see.  Well, perhaps we will see each other later then."

"Yes, that would be wonderful," I answered.  I wandered off down the corridor, thinking about snow.  I had only seen heavy snow a few times as a child, when I'd been in the northernmost reaches of the Shire with my father.  

Besides being cold, snow was surprisingly wet.  Frodo must've been soaked through in the snow he described.  That would even worse, to be not only cold but with one's clothes wet and clammy and clinging.  I thought about snow and became gradually aware of a feeling of trespassing, as if I were doing something forbidden.  What would Tory have thought, my spending so much time thinking about an adventure, of all things?  He'd probably laugh himself sick.  I had always been a most sensible hobbit…before.  


	5. There Passed the Desolation

 **There Passed the Desolation**

After walking dreamily back to my room, still thinking of the snows on Caradhras, I skipped lunch.  I did have some cleaning and washing to do.  I did the cleaning first.  The dusting and sweeping seemed merely a formality.  I was only playing at housekeeping.  Even if I let it go a week or two, I myself generated barely enough dust to darken a rag.  I made my bed.  At least the bed was suitably untidy.  I spread myself all over it in the course of the long nights, resting first on my pillow and then on Tory's as the mood took me.   

Next, I got out the washtub and looked at my small pile of laundry.  It was pitiful.  I had had large robust piles of laundry when my boys were alive.  I filled the tub with water and began moodily washing the clothing.  There had been that month when Toby took such a liking for his yellow shirt with dogs and cats embroidered on the collar, that he refused to wear anything else.  Every night I'd had to slip the shirt out of his room, rinse it and hang it by the fireplace so it would be dry next morning.  And Tory had been absolutely hopeless about packing.  Unless I watched him like a hawk, off he would go on a gadabout with the most inappropriate clothes in his pack.  His favorite white shirt, for example. White!  How long had it taken me to get the dirt and smoke stains out of that shirt without damaging the weave of the linen?  And his best breeches, not the heavy brown or blue ones that would stand up to the rough.  

I looked down at the washtub, half-expecting to see shirts and breeches and weskits, large and small.  There were only dresses, aprons, and a couple of skirts, though.  The aprons rolled through the water, showing flashes of white like a parley flag.  _I'm ready to parley now_, I thought.   _I want them back, please.  Anything. I'll do anything, give anything…  I want them back. _ I sank down until my forehead was resting on the edge of the washtub.  I closed my eyes and sat there for a long while.  Finally, I roused myself and took the clothing outside to hang.  

Later, Dahlia brought me a dish of supper, and I prevailed upon her to bring in my wash for me.  Then I could sit in my rocker, in a perfectly clean and tidy apartment.  The evening was rich and warm, but I ignored it. There was no disorder, no untidiness, and no noise.  Had I ever wished for this when I'd had a surfeit of disorder and noise?  Did I ever fully understand how blessed I'd been?  _I want them back.  Anything… please…_

The tap on the door nearly made me jump out of my skin.  I wiped my face and tried to control a surge of anger. _Couldn't they just leave me alone?_   I got up wearily and opened the door.  I felt a faint surprise on seeing Frodo.  I gestured him in and returned to my chair.  

He stood by the door, hesitating.  "I didn't see you at tea or dinner, and I thought I would return the favor.  Have you lost track of the time?"

I shook my head, and then realized he expected a verbal response.  "No."  He still stood so I pointed to the chair next to mine.  "You might as well sit down."

He sat down and picked up a small book from the floor.  "Why, this is the book of translations you were speaking of.  I haven't looked at my copy for a while."  He began leafing through the book, stopping every now and then to read to himself a bit. I watched him curiously, suddenly struck by the thought that I had never seen Tory handle this book.  He'd read fairy stories to Toby once in a while, but never sat down with the poetry book.  

Frodo's hands on the blue leather cover were neat and compact.  He held the book with confidence, easily finding the particular passages he wanted.  I returned my gaze back to the small yellow shirt in my lap.  The small noises as Frodo turned the pages and shifted in his chair were distracting me.  They gave me the false impression that I was not alone in this apartment, and my mothering instincts began to speak up.   _Listen, did you hear that thump?  Did Toby fall down?  Maybe you should go check. It's too quiet; he must be into something._

Frodo looked up.  "What?  I didn't hear you."

"Nothing, never mind."

He looked regretful.  "I think I'm imposing.  My apologies. I'll go."

"No!"  My response startled me, but I suddenly felt that I could not bear to be alone just then.  I continued more moderately:  "No, I would enjoy your company.  I don't feel up to witty conversation, though.  Perhaps you could continue your tale?"

He was leaning forward, on the edge of his seat. "Are you sure?  I don't wish empty politeness.  I would prefer honesty."   I looked over at him.  I could see the little hollow at the base of his throat in the 'v' formed by his opened collar. The silver links of a chain disappeared down into his shirt. _Why did men never button their shirts all the way?_ The skin of his throat was milk-pale.  I wondered what its texture was like.  Tory's walking had tanned him quite a bit, and his skin had always been very warm with a solid feel to it.  Frodo's skin looked as if it would be smooth as silk. 

I met his eyes finally.  "No, I'm not being polite, Frodo.  I would like you to stay."  Something in my face must've convinced him, for he sat back in his chair again.  

He shoved some stray curls back from his face and began speaking, glancing at me often for my reaction.  "I told you earlier of our flight down to the eastern Gate of Moria.  When we reached it, the moon was up.  Gandalf went to the Doors and said something softly and blew upon them.  Silver lines spiraled out from his fingers, outlining the Doors.  Gandalf said it was a substance called ithildin, a form of mithril, that reflected star-light and moon-light."  

I set my mind to work following his words, trying to picture the scenes and people he described.  I looked at him curiously when he described the attack by the Watcher in the Water.  His voice was quiet, and his face dispassionate, as if what he described happened to someone else entirely.  His story traveled through Moria, the battle in the Chamber of Marzulbul, and Gandalf's stand against the Balrog.  

"We saw the fiery whip of the Balrog coil about his knees, and drag him to the brink.  Before any of us could reach him, he stumbled and was gone.  His last words were "Fly, you fools!"  Which we did."  Here he stopped.  

My mouth was hanging open.  Hobbits were insular and isolated, but surely I would remember hearing of Gandalf's death?   "I cannot believe you saw Gandalf die." 

He nodded.  "I could not believe it, either.  It was as if the Sun had suddenly refused to rise." 

I frowned, searching his face for signs of grief.  There were none.  Then I remembered an earlier comment of his.   "How is it that Gandalf could be dead, when I distinctly remember you saying that he had gone to see Tom Bombadil?" I asked him.

He smiled.  "Caught in my own admission!  But I will say nothing further, except that I believed he was truly dead and gone from Middle Earth.  And that seems as good a place as any to stop."

I was twisting the ring Tory had given me about my finger.  "And were you saddened when you thought Gandalf had died?"

His face sobered.  "Very.  He is a very dear friend.  Over and over, I thought about all the things I would have liked to have spoken with him about, but it was too late."  He looked over at me and touched my arm hesitantly. "I can't imagine…  You are very strong, Tansy, to cope so well.  You must have adored them."

"I… uh….I…    I did adore them.  I never dreamed…" My voice sank to a whisper. "They were a gift I never dreamed of."

"A gift?" he asked in surprise.  "What do you mean?"

I closed my eyes against my memories.  "I was happier with them than I had ever been.  Than I even imagined possible.  And happier than I'll ever be again, most-like."

 He looked down at his hands musingly.  He had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together.  A white jewel on a silver chain tumbled out of his shirt.  It was beautiful.  He took hold of it with one hand, while he rubbed a thumb over the spot where his ring finger had been.  "A gift.  Interesting."

My heart was bleeding and I couldn't face his leaving just yet.  I forced a smile.  "Please don't stop there.  Continue for a little more."

He sat up and tucked the jewel back into his shirt.  He skimmed quickly through Lothlorien, though I thought I recognized a little of the flush Goldberry's name had evoked when he spoke of Galadriel.  In his description of the Mirror of Galadriel, I found some of the distraction I needed, and peppered him with questions until he'd repeated it thrice over. When they left Lorien via boats and bearing gifts, it was late.  He looked around the room, and said, "I should be going.  Will you be all right?"

"Yes," I replied.  I felt a rush of gratitude at his kindness.  At the door, I touched his shoulder lightly.  "Frodo…thank you."  

"Please, it was nothing."  He paused a moment at the door, hand on the knob and staring ahead at the wood panels.  He spoke in a rush without looking at me. "I enjoyed our visit, tonight.  Shall we see each other tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, that would be nice," I answered.  I took a deep breath and said, "If you like, you could come by for breakfast, if you're up.  I'm usually up early, you see."

His hand tightened a little on the knob.  "I think that would suit," he said off-handedly.  "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."  When he had left, I curled up on the chair where he'd been sitting, and tried to think about the latest chapter of the tale he'd woven for me.  The chair was warm from the heat of his body.  It was hard to believe that the same hobbit who'd sat across from me so quietly and spoken so politely was one who'd gone on this adventure.  He didn't seem the type.  Merry, yes, I could see that rascal Merry off on an adventure, and Pippin was too young to have any sense.  

He'd also said very little about this Ring of his.  If it was wholly evil, as the consensus seemed to be, had carrying it had any effects on him?  I was sure it had.  Not just the privations of this journey could have changed him so from the hobbit he'd been, to this haunted, thin version of himself.  I knew that his servant Sam and his new wife were supposed to be looking after him.  Couldn't they convince him to eat once in a while?  If his braces were unbuttoned his breeches would probably slide off his body.  He was built rather straight from the shoulder, with just a slight narrowing at his hips.  _Lithe_ was the word I was looking for.  His body, at least, had the shape of a fine young male hobbit.  His age showed only in his eyes, and to a lesser extent, in his face.

These thoughts eventually led me to the question of what I would serve him if he did show up tomorrow for breakfast.  I got up rather restlessly and began rummaging about in my small cupboard.  Some rather stale biscuits and cakes were all I could find.  I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten something with my morning tea.  Obviously, a visit to the Hall kitchen was called for.  I picked up a basket and left at once. 

When I returned from my successful raid, it was close to midnight.  I was quite tired, which surprised me a little.  I put away the items I'd picked up and went to bed.  For once, I slept immediately.  

_Kneeling in our front room, I am washing clothes in the big washtub, while Tory tells me about his trip. _ I stand up, and lift my skirt, climbing into the tub and pretending to stomp on the clothes.  "What… are you doing?" Tory asks, dream-slow.

"Washing clothes the vineyards way," I reply.  He smiles and stands up and takes me in his arms.  I close my eyes as he kisses me.  His lips are so warm.  I touch the light brown-almost blond curls at the back of his tanned neck.  He lifts me up and out of the tub, but one of my feet catches on the edge and tips it over.  The sudsy water splashes over our feet and legs.  I open one eye to look at the mess.

"Oh, no," I mumble into his mouth.

"Just don't think about it now," he says, and picks me up.  "We can clean it up later."  He turns to go into our bedroom, but as he takes a step, his foot slides out from under him and we both fall to the floor, in the middle of the tub water.  I stare at him in dismay.  I've fallen on my side and I am wet through from shoulder to knee.  He has sat down hard and looks at me in exasperation.  I flick soap bubbles off my hands.  He starts to get up, revealing his mostly-dry breeches, with a huge wet spot over his bum.  I look at that wet spot and get giggling.  He glances down at his breeches and then at me.  His mouth quirks, and he starts laughing as well.  Then he pounces on me, and lays me down in the middle of that puddle, and kisses me as if his life depends on it.  Wet clothing tends to bind up when you're trying to get it off in a hurry, but we manage.

I realize I'm dreaming now, but I don't care because it feels so wonderful.  My hair is wet and sticking to the floor, and I can hear the slap of our bodies on the water.  I stretch my arms up over my head, and sigh from the pure pleasure of feeling him when it's been so long.  So long.  His body is above mine and I can look over his shoulder at the wall of our sitting room, seeing our shadows there together.  I clasp my hands around his neck, and twine my fingers into the soft raven-dark locks there.  His movements quicken, and he nuzzles my neck, kissing under my ear.  A delicious shiver runs from my neck to where we're joined.  I kiss the pale skin of his shoulder, and run my hands down his back.  His skin is silky smooth.  I caress his slender hips, and his breathing becomes ragged, and he murmurs my name into my neck. "Tansy," in a soft voice, almost a whisper.  

Somehow I'm beginning to feel an odd sense of disquiet, underneath the pleasure rippling through me.  I arch my back, driving him deeper.  I am gasping from the heat and the wetness.  I grab his face and kiss the corner of his mouth, trembling with need.  His eyes are nearly closed, the lashes dark against his pale cheeks.  His blue eyes.   It's Frodo I am with.

I started awake in the dark of my bedroom, my heart pounding and the ache of unsatisfied desire in my loins. I sat up in bed, and put my head in my hands.  _What was I thinking?  What had happened?_  I pulled the neck of my nightdress away from my chest and took a deep breath.   _How could I be dreaming about someone else?  Didn't I love Tory?_ __

I stumbled over to the washstand and poured water into the basin.  I bathed my face until my head began to clear a bit, the haze of passion receding.   _It doesn't mean anything_, I told myself.  _Or rather the only thing it means is you've been nine months without Tory, and your body was bound to notice sooner or later._   

I tipped the washstand perilously when I tried to replace the basin and pitcher, and then nearly stepped on the poppy-remedy hidden underneath it.  I picked the tiny bottle up absently and set it underneath the upside-down pitcher.  _Why, any male might be grist for dreams.  It could've been Merry, for pity's sake.  Which in a way would be worse because you see him every day, and he has that understanding with Estella. At least Frodo is decently unattached. _

That's what I told myself as I paced around the bedroom, occasionally eyeing the pitcher.  I felt as if I would need my wits about the next day, though, so I refrained.  I finally gulped down a cup of chamomile tea without sugar before I stopped trembling.  Then I went back to bed.  It was a long time before I could go back to sleep, though. 

I woke with the first rays of dawn the next morning.  For a moment, I just lay there, not thinking about anything.  Then it all rushed back on me: my invitation to Frodo for breakfast, and my dream after he had left.  I got up and looked out at the dawn.  I still had time to wash and dress decently.  I took the luxury of using heated water in the kitchen for my wash, since I didn't expect anyone this early.  Then I rummaged about in my wardrobe for something to wear.  In this warm weather I preferred to change clothes nearly every day.  I picked out a nice light ivory chemise.  I'd last worn this to the Mid-summer feast.  The yellow overdress Opal had given me was with it.  I wouldn't be wearing that again.  I saw a maroon-brown bodice and skirt that I hadn't worn for a long time.  My figure had expanded after Toby's birth.  I held them up to me.  It looked as if they would fit now, and the outfit held fewer associations than my other clothes.  

I brushed my hair quickly then slipped these on.  I tied the drawstring neck of the chemise and looked at myself.  I'd tied it too high, and that much ivory showing over the bodice looked silly.  I retied it lower and looked again.  I had the shocked impression that it was now far too low, but I knew intellectually that it wasn't.  I'd worn necklines much lower than this before. I picked up a light shawl to make myself feel better, and hurried in to start tea. 

I heard a light knock on the door as I finished setting out the cakes and other things I'd picked up last night.  I stared at the door for a minute, my heart quickening.  _All right, so he's handsome_,  I told myself firmly.   _Any female would notice it.  That's all, really.  Why, you appreciated the sight of a handsome hobbit even when Tory was alive._  I smoothed my hair down, and patted my skirt into place.  _Stop acting ridiculous, Tansy._

When I opened the door, Frodo was standing with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe.  He smiled as he said, "I was going to wait just a few more moments before deciding you were still asleep and leaving."

"Asleep?" I said, as I motioned him in. "I've been up since dawn."

"I've been up since before dawn," he teased back.  

"Oh well, I forgot I never went to bed last night."

He laughed.  "All right, then, you have me. For I did go to bed, and actually slept rather well."

I turned away quickly, and picked up the teakettle.  _He did go to bed.  He slept well.  Did he dream?_ My cheeks were burning at the innocent comment.  I filled our teacups and handed him one.  Then I brought out the platter of cakes and scones.  "What would you like?" I asked him.  

_Yes, what do you want_, my mind repeated.  _Do you see anything you want?_ I could feel myself starting to blush again._  Be quiet!  Just stop thinking about it, all right?_ I thought in frustration_.    _

He picked up a scone and split it neatly with a knife, and drizzled some heavy cream on it.  He moved with a simple grace and economy of motion.  He looked up and saw me still standing there.  "Don't stand on ceremony, Tansy," he said. "Join me, please."

I smiled politely, and replied,  "Of course I will."  Then I sat down quickly and reached for a biscuit.  Today he had worn a white shirt, with braces and no weskit.  His breeches were dark blue and somewhat worn.  Unlike his other pairs, these did not hang on him loosely.  They were snug.  His braces were buttoned into the waistband, which was tight around his hips.  When he reached over for the milk pitcher, the brace on his left shoulder loosened a bit, almost enough to slide off. His collar spread with the motion, as again he had not buttoned his shirt up.  I suddenly noticed the silver chain again and next to it, a small freckle on one side of his throat.  I wrenched my eyes away, and stared determinedly at my biscuit. _Enough with the pleasantries, back to the story,_ I thought distractedly.

"Oh, of course," he said.  I closed my eyes for a moment in despair when I realized I'd spoken aloud yet again.  _Some day that habit will get you into so much trouble, Tansy,_ I told myself sternly.  

He went on, apparently not noticing anything out of the ordinary.  "Our travel down the Anduin was mostly unexceptional, until we reached the Argonath.  Oh, that was an extraordinary sight!  I don't know if I can describe it properly."

He had been talking for a little over half of an hour, when we both heard a quick tap at my door.  He stopped and looked at me, his eyebrows raised questioningly.  I was mystified.  I was getting up to answer it, when the door opened and Dahlia stepped in.  She stopped dead, looking at us.  I immediately saw the scene from her eyes.  She turned right around and walked back out the door.  

"Dahlia, wait!" I called.  "I'll be back in a moment, Frodo," I told him.  I rushed out after her and caught her in the hallway.  "Dahlia, stop, what's the matter?" I asked her, closing the door behind me. 

She turned to me, looking angry.  "Tory's only nine months into his grave and you take up with that disreputable Baggins!" 

"I have not," I answered back, stung.  "Merry asked me to help cheer him up and that's all I've done."

She looked rather pointedly down the hall at the window on the far end, where morning light was just beginning to shine through. _At this hour?_ her manner seemed to ask silently.  

I tried to explain: "It's only breakfast. He doesn't seem to eat well, so I thought a meal would do him good…   Honestly, Dahlia, he's only a friend.  Just a few days ago I would have said he's only an acquaintance.  You can't seriously think that…."

She held up her hands to stop me.  "How silly of me!" she said formally.  "Of course, you're right, Tansy.  I apologize for my behavior. Will you convey my apologies to Mr. Baggins, as well?" 

I wondered if she was being sarcastic.  "Certainly.  But you can tell him yourself.  Come and have some tea with us."

"No, dear, I think I will go on to the kitchen.  The scones smell wonderful this morning."

"Dahlia, perhaps I should walk with you," I said.  "Just a second and I'll tell Frodo."

She looked at me for a moment, and then sighed.  "No, Tansy, it's all right. Don't leave your company.  He is handsomer than I remembered, isn't he?  And grown up, as well."

I could feel the cursed betraying blush on my face. 

"I've been selfish with you and your time, Tansy," she said quietly, "but I'm still glad to see you taking an interest in life again.  I think this family has had enough sorrow, for now."   She gave me a quick hug and then wiped her eyes.  "I'd almost think it spring around here!  Have you heard Meli is after Merry now?" she asked, returning to a light tone. 

 "I think Mentha was just put out with Melilot when she said that."  

"No, I heard it from Tilly, and she was writing Estella.  I imagine that girl will have something to say when she gets that letter.  I was certainly surprised.  But if Meli's decided to stop eating her heart out over her sister's man, it's an improvement." She patted my arm.  "But that's enough gossip.  I'll see you later, dear."  

I kissed her cheek and watched her walk off before turning to go back inside.  As I stepped inside, I saw Frodo coming out of my bedroom.  I looked at him in surprise.  He flushed and said, "I didn't want to interrupt your conversation but I had a minor accident."  There was a splotch of cream on the left side of his white shirt.  He held a rag in one hand.  

"Oh, here, let me."  I took the rag and dampened it with soap and water.  As I rubbed at the stain, I said, "I'm sorry about Dahlia.  She is a bit protective of me."

"As well she should be," he said in a strained tone of voice.  

I looked at him curiously, wondering what he meant. "There, good as new."  I gave his shirt a quick tug to straighten it, and let my hands linger for a moment on his chest.

He looked down at me, his eyes very serious. _What is it?_ I thought, holding his gaze. He finally said, "Thank you," and turned to sit down at the table again. I felt a flash of disappointment as I walked over to hang the rag on the fireplace rack.       
            

I refreshed our teacups and prompted, "So then you and Sam had left the Fellowship…"  

He frowned a little at me, and then sighed.  "Yes, that's correct. We started across the Emyn Muil, which is a rocky wasteland outside the borders of Mordor.  Not in Mordor itself, you understand."

I nodded to show I did understand, and he went on.  He was as fussy as an old maid about some of these details.  He described their capture of Gollum/Sméagol, that awful creature who'd borne the Ring before Bilbo, and his decision to bind him with an oath.  "I think Sam thought we should kill him then and there, but I couldn't slay the wretched creature.  I felt something of his torment, you see, and I simply couldn't."

"You did quite right." 

He looked at me intently.  "Why do you say that?"  

I hesitated a moment, annoyed with myself for speaking so unguardedly.  I couldn't think of any reasonable evasions for what I'd said, so I was stuck with the truth.  "I've developed rather a horror of death," I said reluctantly.  "I don't think I could ever kill anyone."

"What about to save your own life?" he asked.  

Well, I couldn't answer that.  Save my own life?  Why on earth would I want to do that?  So I could live with my sorrow another ninety years?  I frowned, pretending to be thinking weighty thoughts.  "Of course, you're right.  In that case, I probably would."

He searched my eyes with his own, looking troubled.  I gazed back at him innocently.  "So did your plan work?" I asked him.  "To bind Sméagol with an oath?"

He was easily distracted, looking off toward the fireplace.  "That will come out in the course of events." He went on with the description of their passage over the Dead Marshes and to the Black Gate, guided by Sméagol.  The sun was high in the sky when he finished his description of the setting, and Sméagol's pleas to try the 'secret' way.  The tea in our cups had grown cold.  He stretched his arms ostentatiously.  "Nearly time for elevenses," he said.  

I looked at him in disbelief.  "You can't stop there," I replied.  "I want to know if you tried the Black Gate or not!"

"I'm sorry, Tansy, but I'm feeling rather hungry.  Can I please have your leave to get some refreshment?"  He said this so plaintively that I immediately felt a pang.  

"Of course, I didn't mean to keep you. Here I'll show you out."

At the door, he looked back at me. "Won't you come down with me?"  

I wanted to, but I also didn't want to see any more of Tory's family just then.  "I'm really not very hungry," I said as casually as possible.

His eyebrows drew together as he frowned a little.  "I see."   He stepped outside.

I caught his elbow, drawing his attention back to me.  "Don't think you've escaped, Frodo.  I will be tracking you down at luncheon or tea.  I must hear more of this today!"

He smiled.  "I'll look forward to it, then."


	6. Subtle Mists of Sense and Thought

**Subtle Mists of Sense and Thought**

After Frodo left, I decided I needed to keep busy.  I didn't feel like company, however, so I set off on a walk.  Out of habit, my feet found the cemetery path.  The air was deliciously warm and so soft the littlest breeze felt as if it were caressing my face.  I stood at the entry and looked over the stones.  I began to walk over to my spot, but found myself drawn over to the corner where I had seen Frodo twice now. There was only one stone with two sets of names and dates on it.  The first read: _Drogo Baggins 1308-1380_, and the second _Primula Brandybuck Baggins 1320-1380_.  

I stood looking at them, trying to imagine what Frodo felt when he stood here.  How well did he remember them? Was it worse to lose a child or a spouse or a parent?  My mother had died five years ago, but I had been grown-up and nearly on my own.  It seemed more natural, than to lose a child.  But then, until I'd had the experience of losing a child, I would never have believed just how badly it could hurt.  

I saw something odd in the grass, and knelt down to look at it.  It was a long green leaf, with a shape I'd never seen before, and set atop was a dried but still beautiful golden flower.  I reached out and touched it tentatively.  The flower gave off a faint fragrance, soft, haunting and unlike any flower I was familiar with.  It sent a chill down my spine as I looked at it, and it seemed to whisper of far-away places and sorrowful partings.  I wondered why Frodo had brought this flower to his parents' grave.  Was it merely a memento of his travels?  A token of farewell?  

I worried at my lower lip as I considered the way he'd behaved this morning.  He'd seemed fine.  Almost too fine, in fact.  I felt sure that Ring had had some deleterious effects on him.  He hadn't spoken of them, though.  He talked lightly of what he and Sam had eaten, how they'd made camp, and he'd bemoaned at length Sam's tendency to carry enough food, utensils and clothing to supply a hobbit family for a week.  _Perhaps he doesn't trust me, or simply doesn't wish to discuss ill memories_, I thought.  

When I heard the lunch bell, I started and realized I'd been brooding here for quite some time.  I stood up hastily, and walked over to my customary spot.   I sat down between my boys, and ran my fingers gently over the incised stones.  

Today I looked at Toby's stone first.  "Toby, darling, Mama loves you."  I sat for a moment, picturing his face.  "I miss you, angel.  I wish I could have gotten the chance to see what sort of man you would've been.  I think it would have been wonderful. And I think you would have been the absolute image of your father.  Someday, soon, baby, Mama will be there with you."

I turned to the other, and swallowed hard.  "Tory, love, I miss talking to you," I said finally.  "It always seemed no matter what vexed me, a talk with you would set it straight.  And you spoiled me, dearest.  We were so close, I never felt as if I needed anyone else in my life.  I never really even bothered with anyone else.  And now, I feel so alone and I miss you so…"  My chest hitched and tears burned my eyes.   

"I don't have enough to do, either," I continued.  "My days are so empty.  What am I supposed to do with myself?"  I paused and tried to think of what Tory would say.  _Get busy, a change is as good as a rest.  Stop feeling sorry for yourself.  Look around, and you'll find that most likely what you need is already to hand.  _

"None of those work.  I know what you used to say, but they don't fit this situation."  This was an old argument between us.  I would insist that a certain problem was unique, and he would laugh at me.  

"Tansy, sweetheart," he used to say, kissing me on the nose, "there is no changing hobbits.  What worked yesterday will work today; there is nothing new under the sun."  It amused him to run maxims together like that.  And over time, though I contested each one, I'd come to see that those old wives' tales did contain truths.  Sometimes they contained more truth than one wanted to hear.  I sank into my memories, still trying to push Tory's sayings out of my mind.  

After a time, I heard footsteps and looked up to see Tilly at the small gate.  "Here alone, Tansy?" she asked.  

"Yes," I answered warily.  "Why are you here?"

"Merry seemed concerned that you hadn't been around today, so I told him I would be happy to check on you.  And then, I overheard Dahlia talking to Opal, saying she'd seen you this morning with Frodo.  Early.  Is that true, sweetheart?"  Her eyes were gleaming in anticipation of some fresh scandal.

I looked down and grimaced horribly at the grass.  No matter what answer I gave her, she would probably take it in the worst possible manner.  "And where were you yesterday?" she went on.  "You came down for second breakfast, then disappeared for the rest of the day.  Well, disappeared until Dahlia sees you having breakfast this morning."

I plastered a pleasant smile on my face before I looked up.  "Really, dear, is there a such a shortage of gossip that you're driven to talk about me?" I said smoothly.  "I just stayed in my rooms and did some cleaning and laundry.  I got Dahlia to help me carry the wash in.  And as for Mr. Baggins, there is nothing to tell.  A few conversations don't hold much weight.  Why, I barely know him."

"Oh, of course," she said calmly. She walked over to Primula's and Drogo's grave while I watched her, wishing she would leave.  She stood as I had, looking down at the grave.  Her mouth formed an 'o' and she suddenly stooped, reaching out to the base of the stones.  "Look, an ugly old dried-up flower fell here.  I'll just get rid of it, shan't I?"

"Tilly, don't," I snapped.  "Leave that be, he put it there for his parents."

She pulled her hand back and shook her head, smiling.  "I see.  Good of you to set me straight.  And calm down.  I wouldn't lay a finger on his offering, if it upsets you so."  I blew out my breath in exasperation.  _You should know better than to try to play games with Tilly.  She's better at it than you are, _I chastised myself.__

She straightened up and looked at me gleefully.  "So you barely know him?  Well, dear, you are the persuasive one.  I wondered if he was still even man enough for that, what with him being so thin and sickly-looking.  I'd love to hear the whole story." She paused a moment, but I set my jaw and said nothing.  She continued thoughtfully, "You know, now I remember something about how unusually close he seemed to be to that man-servant of his.  He's even got him living in Bag End.  That's a bit of a change for you, isn't it?  Second place, I mean."

I was speechless for a moment in shock and anger.  How could she repeat such things of him!  She knew absolutely nothing of what he'd gone through and yet stood there and smirked at me, as if she knew it all. I jumped up, hearing the blood pounding in my ears, and seeing a look of smug satisfaction cross her face.  "I'd expect a comment like that from an ignorant bed-warmer like you, Tilly," I said furiously.  "There's more to a man than bed.  Especially someone like him.  You wouldn't know that, would you?"

Her mouth fell open and worked soundlessly for a second, then shut.  Rage darkened her face. "You…  wench!" she spat.  "How dare you!  I've never, ever behaved like that.  Shameless hussy!  You'll be ruined, Tansy.  Merry and Saradoc would be so disappointed in you.  You'd better pray you can talk Mad Baggins into marrying you!"

"You imagine you know everything there is to know, Tilly," I said bitterly.  "So what makes you think Merry doesn't already know I'm ruined?"

She froze.  "And just what is that supposed to mean?" she snapped back.  

I glared at her, and spun away without answering.  "Tansy?" she yelled after me.  "Tansy!"  I ignored her and walked faster, until I was nearly running.  I got all the way back to my rooms before my blood started to cool.  It was another hour before I started feeling even a little remorseful. I really should not have lost my temper like that.  And Merry would not appreciate having Frodo dragged into the middle of a woman's quarrel. Worst of all was knowing that Tilly could ruin my reputation when I'd done nothing to earn it.  I paced around restlessly, trying to decide what to do.  _Them that dance must pay the fiddler_.  _What if you don't get even one dance and the blasted fiddler wants paid?_ I complained to myself.  _What then?_

In the close quarters of Brandy Hall, arguments and spats were not uncommon, and the accepted way to deal with them was to smooth it over as quickly as possible.  It rankled terribly but I'd have to go and make it up with Tilly.  Of course, I could delay.  But I'd still end up apologizing, most likely after a tongue-lashing from Dahlia or Opal, once they heard of it.   _Best get it over with then_, I thought resignedly. I went over to her room immediately, before I could change my mind.  When I knocked there was no answer, but I could see shadows moving in the light that seeped from under the door.  _She wants to avoid me, fine_.  I walked over to one of the little common rooms and picked up a piece of paper, and wrote:

Tilly,

I'm sorry we argued today.  I was being hotheaded and I should not have said those things.   I am, perhaps, a little over-sensitive these days.  There's a simple explanation for everything you mentioned.  I have visited—to talk!—with Frodo a couple of times, but only because I'd promised Merry to do so.  If you doubt me, go ask Merry.  When he visited night before last, he asked me to help keep Frodo company during his visit and prevent him from brooding overmuch.  Now you know all so let's not argue anymore. 

Peace?      

Tansy

I returned and slid it under her door.  By the time I got back to my room, I felt relieved and exhausted.  I sprawled across my bed, and fell asleep. 

When I awoke, it was nearly teatime.  I stretched and got up and made myself some tea.  I munched a scone absent-mindedly.  _I really should go and check that Tilly had gotten my note.  I should probably tell Merry about our row._  I winced, imagining that.  Perhaps I'd wait a bit, and see what happened.  

When I heard a tap on the door, I jumped up and jerked it open.  It was Frodo.  I peered around him into the hallway for a second, wondering if anyone else was about.  He looked quizzical.  "What is it?" 

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," I replied, saying the first thing that came into my head.  "I thought I might have another visitor, is all."

He frowned slightly. "Were you expecting someone else?" 

"Oh, no, Frodo, come in please," I said, taking his arm and bringing him into the room.  "I must ask your pardon.  I meant to come and ask you to tea, but I was rather tired.  Instead, I ended up taking a nap, and only woke up just now.  My apologies."

"Well, what are you planning to do for tea, then?"  He stood looking at me, wearing the same white shirt and breeches he'd had on this morning.  But now, his clothes seemed more filled in, and more comfortable, as if they'd molded themselves to his body.    
  


I felt a little warm, and went to open the window.   "Let's just stay here, Frodo.  And that way you can speak freely.  Is that all right?"  I gestured toward the table.  

He sat down and I bustled about, making him some tea.  When I had settled myself, I looked at him expectantly.  He looked a bit distant and sad.  "I described the Black Gate to you, and it was clear to me that there was no way I could cross it undetected unless I used the Ring. It would mean leaving Sam and Sméagol behind, probably in the middle of the night, and going alone.  I also felt that it was desperately dangerous to use the Ring in Mordor and I mistrusted my own impulse to do so.  When Sméagol spoke of a another entry way, it seemed like the answer I needed."

I sat and listened to him, staring at his hands as they lay on the table.  He'd been faced with a horrible decision, with no good answer, and yet had found one.  My admiration increased again.  _Who else would have the foresight to make an enemy an ally_, I wondered.  

I noticed that one of his cuffs had a loose thread, and it was stuck to the inside of one wrist.  His cuffs weren't buttoned and I could imagine the smooth warmth of his skin.  He was speaking lightly, as usual, of the journey away from the Black Gate.  I folded my hands neatly together to keep from reaching over and tugging at that loose thread.  That would be unremarkable, but then I could fold his cuffs back, revealing the soft skin of his wrists, and say something casual, like "Isn't too warm to have your cuffs down?"  He would probably agree and I would slowly slide his cuffs up his arms, first one and then the other, in an intimacy too plain to ignore.  Then perhaps he would lean over...   I realized I was losing track of the story.  He was describing a meeting with a Man named Faramir.  I concentrated on his words, and folded my hands, looking down at them instead.  

When he spoke of the climb to the secret pass, his voice began to slow.  I began to wonder where this story was headed, and if we were getting close to the end, now. 

"When we awoke, Sméagol led us into the tunnel that would take us through to the pass.  It was absolutely black and had a foul stench.  He led us long, and we passed other passageways, branching off on either side.  I trailed my fingers along the wall to keep my bearings.  After many branchings on both sides, I sensed something different, a deep pit with a terrible menace, close by.  We hurried past it as quickly as possible and found that Sméagol had disappeared.  The tunnel forked and we did not know which to take.  We found that one fork was blocked somehow.  Then we felt some evil presence and heard the noises.  Something was coming toward us.  It was only at this point that Sam remembered the phial of Galadriel.  When I took it out, it shone through my fingers with a wondrous clear white light.   And in that light, we saw the eyes in the distance."

"Eyes?" I questioned with a shiver.

He smiled grimly.  "Many eyes in two great clusters, like that of a spider, if you can imagine a spider taller than a Man.  We could only see the eyes and not the shape of the creature, and at first we fled.  I saw it come leaping behind us and I knew we could not out-run it.  I told Sam we must stand and I drew my sword." He fell silent, and swallowed hard.  I folded his hands into mine, and squeezed them comfortingly.  He cleared his throat and went on.  "I advanced toward the creature, and the light seemed injure it.  As I got closer, I felt the menace easing, and suddenly the thing turned and fled away from us."  

"You faced it down," I whispered in awe.

"The light drove it off," he answered.  

I stared at him, wondering why he had phrased it that way.  "Songs and stories, Frodo!  And how close did you have to get before it drove off the creature?" 

He didn't answer me.  "Once it turned away, we fled through the tunnels.  There was a spider-web drawn across the last passage, which resisted Sam's sword.  I gave him the phial to hold, and managed to cut through it with Sting. I could see the pass and smell the cleaner air outside.  I told Sam to hurry and follow and ran through it."

He pulled his hands away from mine, then rose and went to the window.  After looking out for a moment, he said hesitantly,  "If it's all the same to you, I think I will stop here for now."  I looked at his linen-clad back, tapering down to his slender hips, in wonder.  He was so gentle, how had he borne it? One brace had twisted when he stood, and I stared at it, thinking of running my hands along his shoulders and straightening it.

"Of course, Frodo.  It's early for supper yet, but if you like I could go down to the kitchen and get a tray for us." I stopped suddenly, wondering how he would respond to this.  

He drummed his fingers on the window frame, _tap-tap-ta-tap_. "Thank you, but I think I will rest a little in my rooms."

"Of course."  I clasped my hands together nervously.  "I have the impression that there are difficult parts to this story.  I've no desire to press you or impose, but I am…available.  If you want to talk.  I found that it helped sometimes." 

He half-turned and looked at me searchingly.  "I see."  

_Play, fiddler…_My insides were a-flutter.  I reached out and grasped his forearm gently.  "Perhaps I'll see you after you've rested?"

"Yes, I'll go down for supper."  He covered my hand with his own, lightly.  "Will I see you there? Or are you staying in?"

I hesitated, thinking about trying to converse with him before all the eyes in Brandy Hall.   As I 'd had ample proof shown, only the illusion of privacy existed in these close confines, but illusion or not, I knew my own preferences.  I felt flushed and intensely vulnerable.  "I'd rather you come and visit me for a bit after supper," I said quietly.  "We could discuss whatever you wish or nothing at all.  We could go for a walk.  I've always enjoyed walking at night."  I could hear myself babbling.  This invitation strayed distinctly beyond the bounds of innocence.  __

His hand tightened unmistakably on mine, and he rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand in a slow circle. That was all, but I felt a flush of warmth all out of proportion to the small contact.  "That sounds very nice," he said as politely as if he were discussing the weather.  "I will see you shortly after supper, then." 

After he left, I sank down onto a chair, feeling as nervous as a cat. I ate lightly, but I can't recall what I ate, and spent some time refreshing myself.  Then I sat down and tried to read the poetry book over again.  

As I waited, I remembered his curious comments about gifts.  I began musing on the idea of Tory and Toby as a gift.  Undreamt of…. they were that, definitely.  Unimagined…. again, true.  But something was niggling at me.  You never knew when a gift was coming, did you?  So unexpected was a good word, and suited my boys as well.  And yet, if one never knew when a gift was arriving, and one couldn't imagine it, then how did one know when another might not lie around the corner?    I turned that idea over in my mind.  I couldn't help but feel it smacked of disloyalty.  

I returned to it, though, like a dog digging at a fence.  A gift might be unpredictable and unexpected, but no less welcome.  If I had had the choice of having Toby for the nearly four years I'd had him, and not having him at all, I would still have chosen him.  I would have chosen the anguish, would have borne it, knowing it was what I wanted.  That to get the moments of pure joy and happiness I'd had, I'd have to pay in heartbreak later.  It felt as if my head were about to break in two from the force of my thoughts.  If a gift …a loved one…is by nature transient, doesn't that mean we should enjoy them while we have them as much as, as fiercely as possible, and then let them go when the time comes?  Let them go without bitterness or anger?  Appreciate what we'd had with them and celebrate it, instead of mourning the time lost.  How would Tory react to my wanting to kill myself?  

I knew the answer right off, for all I'd tried not to think about it.  He would hate it.  He would be horribly angry with me, if he could be here with me now.  He'd probably shake me 'til my brains rattled in my head.  "Chirk up, girl," I could hear him saying.  "I'm gone, and that may be a sad thing, but you need to get up off your selfish hind end, and make yourself a new life!"  I could see him clear as day, his chestnut curls disheveled and his brown eyes snapping at me.

"But, Toby? What about Toby, Tory?" I said pleadingly to this vision.  "How can I possibly live without both of you?"

Tory shook his head at me. "Tansy, did you think that I wouldn't look after him?  And when your time comes, I'll meet you, too, but you'd better not anticipate that by even one second."  He stepped closer to me, and ran his fingers over my face.  "Tansy, dearest, you have love to give yet. It's not your time, my sweet.  It's not.  Promise me.    Throw that stuff away, and give up the idea.  Promise me, sweetheart." He brushed his lips over mine, softly, sweetly and I threw my arms around him frantically.  Oh, how I had missed him.  He spoke again, whispering against my cheek. "Will you promise?"  

"Oh, Tory, I promise!"  I cried. "I promise, love."

He brushed my lips again. "Tonight, dear heart?"  

I could feel his sturdy frame under my hands, warm, alive.  "All right, love.  Anything."  I kissed him longingly.  He felt just the same, and my heart was breaking.  He murmured against my mouth, "I love you, darling. Goodbye."

"Tory! Tory, no! Don't go, don't go, please!" I could hardly speak I was sobbing so.  In fact, I was sobbing so hard, I woke myself up.  I was still sitting in the big chair by my rocker…Tory's chair.  

The candle had burned down and it was dark as a tomb.  I sat up and put my arms out into the air before me, expecting my fingers to encounter a warm body close by.  Tory.  Where was he?  I could smell him on me; I could almost see him.  I got up and moved around the room with my arms out like an old hobbit with bad eyes.  I made two circuits before it began to sink in on me.  It was a dream.  For a little space, I'd felt his lips on mine, his warmth in my arms, but now it was gone.  It was only a dream.  I began sobbing again, harsh, loud sobs, not gentle or pretty in the slightest.  I scrambled to my bedroom and reached for the pitcher.  I had to get rid of it now.  Otherwise, I couldn't bear it.  _An end at last…I want an end to this…but I promised._

I lifted up the pitcher but there was nothing underneath it.  I frowned, and then decided I'd misremembered where I'd placed it last.  I looked in the basin and under the stand.  I couldn't find it.  Had I put it under the bed, then?  I looked but couldn't see anything.  I was in a fever of haste so I stood up and braced myself, and threw the mattress over violently.  Lighting a candle, I searched under and around the bed in vain.  There was nothing.  I searched quickly over the rest of the room to be sure. It was gone.  

I suddenly flashed on Frodo, walking out of this room this morning and seeming so troubled after.  I stood in the room where I'd slept with my husband, drawn to Frodo despite myself, and feeling like a bit of wool being twisted into yarn.  

Someone took the bottle.  _Did you?_  _Why, Frodo? _ **The wheel and the spindle.**  I don't really want to know why, do I?  _But I had promised him I'd get rid of it._  Could I be held to a promise to a dead man?    

**Turning.**   _No, I don't know, and I can't go to him now_.   But he'd as good as said I'd love another before I died.   **Twisting.**   _He couldn't have meant that I should go to him, now, it's too late. _What would people say?  _And what on Arda would I say to him?_   

**Pulling.**  Oh, Frodo, why?  _He doesn't belong to me.  _ Which of them was I speaking of?  **Tighter.**  Did even I know? _He has so much to live for. _ I scrubbed my eyes furiously with my hands.  _And he needs me_. **Stretched. ** I needed air.  _I have to get out._  **Snapped.  **_I must go…now. Hurry!_

I snatched up a shawl and ran out into the quiet hallways of Brandy Hall.  It was so late that I saw not another soul, heard no other sounds of occupation.  I was knocking on Frodo's door a few minutes later.  


	7. Of Interwoven Flame

**Of Interwoven Flame**

He opened it promptly despite the lateness of the hour.  He was still dressed.  He stepped back and gestured me in silently.  I came in and closed the door behind me, tense with anxiety.  "I missed you after supper, Frodo."

He turned away from me and walked over to the chair before the fireplace. I was struck by the leaden way in which his feet hit the ground, as if every movement cost ten times the energy it should.  I went over and crouched on the ottoman at his feet.  As he sat down, I felt a surge of real dismay. He was thin and pale still, but there was something else.  His eyes had no light in them.  I shivered. The last time I had seen eyes like that was when I was laying out my dead.  

"You are very kind and conscientious, but it's not necessary."

I felt a horrible sinking feeling.  "What do you mean?"

He tossed a bit of paper into my lap.  With a shock, I recognized the note I'd left for Tilly.  _The bitch!_ I held it in shaking hands.  

"I'm referring to your promise," he continued.  "It's no longer necessary."

"Frodo, I—"

"It was very considerate of you to oblige Merry." 

"Yes, but that's not why—"

"As I said, you have been very kind to me, but I think coming to my room in the middle of the night is somewhat extreme, don't you?"

"Frodo, just listen to me a moment," I said in frustration. "I missed something from my room today."

He was calm, almost dispassionate when he answered.  "Really?"

"I think you've removed it."

He made no answer.

"Why, Frodo?  I don't understand."

He was so still he might have been a statue carved from some lovely white stone.  

"Why? You must tell me." I asked.  "Frodo, please do me the courtesy of answering!"

He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling.  I recognized that tilt of the head.  Sometimes you could keep tears from running down your cheeks that way.  "Let's just say that 'the difficult parts' as you called them, are difficult enough that I've also longed for a peaceful end."

"Frodo, I think you should talk about it."  I waited a moment. "Frodo, I don't understand and I want to…"  I was struggling to keep my composure, feeling as if I would fly apart into little shards any second.  "Blast you, will you talk to me!" I flared.

His eyebrows drew together in a frown.  "Don't speak to me like that," he said, almost politely. "You have no right—"

"I think I do have a right, don't you?" I cried,  "since I've so conveniently provided you with this."

He put his hand over his eyes and took a deep breath.  "You want to understand.   All right, why not?" he said at last.  He took his hand away and looked at me bitterly. "But I don't wish to look at you as I tell it.  Turn away, Tansy.  Turn away or leave."

I pivoted away from him on the ottoman, trying to hide the hurt in my eyes.  At least he was talking to me.  I heard him shift a bit in his chair and then he began speaking in a low voice I sometimes had to strain to hear.  I don't remember word-for-word everything he said that night, and I don't want to remember. I hated hearing him speak of it, wishing all the while I could turn and offer him some comfort.  His voice wavered and cracked in the telling, and he paused several times to collect himself. 

"When I ran forward to the pass, the Spider came behind me and stung me, poisoning me.  I remember nothing of it, but that is what Sam told me.  I awoke in the hands of orcs.  I say I awoke, but truly they woke me with some vile potion.  They searched me, and stripped me, and striped me.   Flogged me like a common criminal.  Beat me.  I heard them laughing and cheering while I struggled to breathe around the pain, not knowing if they would beat me to death in that courtyard.  Almost praying they would.  I knew the Ring was gone.  My mind was hazy because of the spider's poison and it was hard to think straight.  But I knew I had doomed Middle Earth with my weakness.  With my stupidity. 

"Sméagol had betrayed us.  And probably killed my Sam, as well.  I'd fooled myself into believing I'd bound Sméagol, even that perhaps he had begun to trust me, finally.  That I could redeem the miserable creature…  I failed.  I was captured, and the Ring was gone.  And perhaps the worst was that I wanted the Ring back.  So badly.  I'd never imagined how agonizing it would feel to be without it.  I wanted it.  Like nothing I've ever wanted before or since.  Ever."   

Here he stopped for several minutes, before beginning again.   "After the fun, the orcs threw me into some sort of tower chamber and left me there.  I could hear fights starting below.  They were quarreling, over me and over the plunder they'd taken from me.  The noise got louder until it seemed as if every creature must be murdering another. The tower eventually fell quiet and I wondered if they were all dead.  Then I heard the strangest sound.  Someone was singing. Half out of my head with grief and fear, I tried to answer the phantom.  At least one orc was still alive, and he heard me and came into the chamber.  I was sure he had come to kill me at last.  I remember wondering how much it would hurt and if I'd want the Ring with my last breath.  The orc struck me with a whip and I threw my arms over my face, like a complete craven, like a coward.  I couldn't face my death." He paused a moment. "Isn't this what you wanted to know, Tansy?" he added quietly.  I hugged my arms around myself, feeling cold.  

"Having my arms over my face as I did, I did not see what happened next.  There was a scuffle, and Sam was there. He'd found that most of the orcs had killed themselves fighting.  He had come into the tower to rescue me." He stopped again for several minutes, his breathing hitching roughly. 

"Even more, Sam had fought the Spider when it would have dragged me away to its lair. When he cut the spider webs binding me, he-he thought I was dead.  So he had taken the Ring thinking that the Spider's poison had killed me.  He overheard the orcs talking and realized I was alive, and came back for me.  He could have abandoned me then, and did not.  Of course I, in a fine display of gratitude, struck him and demanded the Ring back.  

"If he hadn't given it to me, I think I would have tried to kill him."  He repeated this musingly. "Yes, I think I would have tried to kill him.  I don't think I would have succeeded, though.  He was in much better shape than I at that point.  He may have been forced to kill me, however."  He spoke as if this outcome would've been more desirable, and I wanted to cry out in protest.

"My gear had been destroyed, so we only had Sam's.   I had no clothing, you remember me saying they stripped me, don't you?   He found some orc-stuff that would suit and we set off.  We had finally gained entry into Mordor, the Black Land itself.  My memory begins to get hazy here.  There was the thirst, as we had little water.  The foulness of the air made it hard to breathe.   The whip-marks and the spider sting were painful.  The wound I received on Weathertop, that I thought had healed, began to ache and chill again.  Worst of all, was the constant pressure of the Ring on my mind.  Eroding me.  Erasing me.  I could feel myself slipping away, everything that made me Frodo Baggins.  Even the physical sensations of the moment, the thirst, the hunger began to slide away from me.  I remember striking my feet on the rocks as I walked.  The sharp pain would bring me back to myself.  I could be Frodo again and feel it, even if just for an instant.  The Ring was heavy, and the chain cut into my neck.  I could see the blood and I could do nothing.  Nothing.  If you want details about how far we walked each day, and what we did, you'll have to look at Sam's account of that time.  I've got it in my notes for the Red Book.  I don't remember any of that.  Just… losing myself.  And struggling to keep some small piece, some part of me alive."

He fell silent again for a long while. "I failed, of course.  Again, I failed miserably.  When we reached the Cracks of Doom, I was almost completely under the Ring's influence.  I had begun to wonder why I was fighting this, when it was so obvious I was going to lose.  I couldn't do it; I knew I couldn't do it.  Even Sam knew I couldn't do it.  I don't remember much except… "  His voice broke.   "Except how relieved I felt when I finally gave in.  No more pain. I couldn't do it and finally I accepted it."  He took a harsh breath.   "Yet despite that, despite my failure, the world wasn't destroyed.  Gollum attacked me there at the last to get the Ring back.  He bit this finger off to do it, and then maddened with joy, fell into the inferno.  Do you understand now?  Arda was saved and the Dark Lord overthrown by the loose stones underfoot in Oroduin."

He sounded very fatigued.  "When the Ring was destroyed, I thought I would die.  I had expected I would.  How could it not happen that way?  But Gandalf, who as it turns out, was still alive, managed to rescue Sam and myself before our deaths.  The Eagles plucked us out of Mordor and brought us to the Armies of the West to be nursed back to life.  And eventually, I returned home.  I believe you know the rest."     

My mind was overwhelmed. I turned on the ottoman, and careful not to look at his face, stared into the fire.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him, slumped in his chair, with firelight glistening on the tears on his face. I tried to take in the agonies he'd suffered, and couldn't.  I could not think of a single blessed thing to say to him.   So I sat, wishing I had the courage to reach out to him, and not finding it.  And he sat, rubbing his thumb over the absence of the finger on his hand, while the tears on his face dried and faded away.  

At last, he stirred and said quietly.  "It's late.  You probably should go now."

Still staring at the fire, I finally felt as if I could speak.  "I don't think you should be alone."

"It's no concern of yours."

I floundered, feeling tears stinging in my eyes.  He seemed outwardly unchanged from the hobbit I'd seen when I walked into this apartment.  I knew more, though.  I knew more and it changed everything.   

"There are no answers in poppy-sleep, as appealing as it may sound to you now," I said.

He smiled grimly, looking away over my shoulder.            "Are you certain of that?" he said coolly.  "You have never sought peace in that sleep?"    

I looked down at my hands, unable to answer.  He continued remotely.  "You had not thought to kill yourself, then?"

I swallowed hard.  He went on, in that even, frighteningly calm voice. "I think you were planning to kill yourself the day we met in the cemetery.  I thought you seemed odd that day. When I saw that bottle on your washstand, it was clear."

I couldn't deny any of it.  I said hotly, "Yes, you're right.  You're right about everything.  Why shouldn't I do as I wish?  I had no one and I was tired of the pain…." My voice trailed off, and I bit my lip hard, tasting blood.

He shook his head.  "Have you heard me?  The pain? Yes, I'm tired of the pain, too."

"I had decided it was wrong, Frodo," I said, stumbling over my words in my haste to convince him.  "We talked of unexpected gifts, never knowing.  Joys that come unbidden, undreamt of.  Why deny them? And there's Sam," I added.  "You do have someone that loves you, why leave him?"

He looked into the fire meditatively.  "Sam would spend his life looking after me, and never mind.  But he could be more.  He would be, if I were gone."  He looked inexpressibly sad and reached out to take my hand.  "You seek your peace, I seek mine," he said gently.  "I am weary, Tansy.  Let me rest."

"Sam is not the only being in the World who cares for you."  My mouth was dry with apprehension.   "Let's not speak of this any more tonight.  Instead, I want to tell you-"  

He dropped my hand, interrupting me.  "Tansy, I think you should go now." 

"I won't," I said angrily.  "Just listen to me for a minute!"

He stood up and turned away. "Don't you understand?" he asked tonelessly, "I've died already once, in Mordor, and what little is left of me should go, as well.  It's only proper."

"Stop it! Stop pitying yourself, I don't want to hear it," I snapped at him, jumping to my feet.  The room spun around me dizzily.     

He finally turned and looked at me, his eyes icily blue.  "Then don't."

"Frodo, I care—"

"You have been very kind to me, and I'm sure Merry is fully satisfied but now I am asking you to leave."  He took my shoulders firmly, and began pushing me toward the door.  I began to feel panicky.  I wasn't reaching him. 

"Frodo, don't, listen to me, no one could have done better, it was impossible," I pleaded with him, planting my feet. Tears were trickling down my cheeks.  "Elrond couldn't do it, Gandalf couldn't do it, that Elven lady, Galadriel couldn't have done it.  Only you.  Only you could have done so much, gotten so far.  How can you think you failed?"

He froze, staring at me.  "I will not discuss this anymore.  I don't want your pity.  I don't want to think about might-have-beens.  Goodnight."

He was still not listening to me.  My frustration boiled over. I grabbed two big handfuls of his shirt and shook him as I hard as I could.  

"I'm not offering you pity!  I care about you, can't you see that? Stop pushing me away!" I yelled into his face.  "You are not dead, you fool, open your stupid-gorgeous-blue-blasted eyes!"  

Buttons began popping off his shirt, flying everywhere.  I gave him a final shake that knocked him against the wall and nearly off his feet.  He grabbed at my shoulders to steady himself, shock written large on his face.  For a long moment we stared at each other, eyes wide, breathing hard.  And I kissed him.

I kissed him, even though on the inside I was shaking with fear that he would hate me for it, would throw me out, and call me names.  I couldn't help it.  I wanted to take away some of the pain I'd seen in his eyes.  And I kissed him because I wanted to so badly.  Because I'd wanted him ever since he first looked over at me in the cemetery.  All these thoughts jumbled up in my head, since all I could really feel was his lips on mine.

He didn't kiss me back right away.  He stood as if turned to stone, his hands still on my shoulders.  I let go of his shirt, and slid my hands up to his neck.  I put a hand on either side of his face, and pressed myself close to him.  Then he kissed me back. Then he kissed me until I thought I might stop breathing.  

He moved, turning us so that my back was against the wall behind us. Then he took my chin in his hand and kissed me hard, his lips moving restlessly over mine.  I ran my hands softly over his face and neck, and my tongue lightly over his lower lip. Some of the tension eased out of him, and he put one arm around my shoulders, and the other at my waist.  I reached around to his back and pulled his shirt loose from his breeches.  I slid my hands up his back, thinking dizzily, _I was right, his skin is like silk_.  He made a small noise in his throat when I tugged his shirt off his shoulders.  His lips left mine and he pressed his forehead against the wall, closing his eyes.  I lifted one of his arms and pulled the shirtsleeve off, then the other and dropped it on the floor.  I kissed the curve of his neck, feeling the silver chain of the necklace he still wore cool against my lips.  His breathing quickened and he opened his eyes to look at me.  I slid my hands down the smooth hollow at the small of his back.   

He kissed me again, this time with no hesitation.  I couldn't breathe.  The one thought repeating in the back of my head was:  _Oh, he tastes so good!_  His lips left mine and traveled down the side of my neck.  When he reached the line of my bodice and chemise, he pushed them off my shoulder.  He kissed there, and I wrapped my arms around him and clung to him shamelessly.  It felt like I hadn't been touched in a hundred years and every brush, every caress woke a thousand sleeping nerves. 

He kissed my mouth again, teasing my lips open.  His body was so warm.  His heat was soaking into me, making me want to stretch out against him.  I began sinking down; my legs didn't want to hold me up anymore.  

He bent his knees easily, and with the same grace I'd noticed earlier, picked me up and moved over to the low divan.  When he laid me down on it, I could see desire in his eyes.  It made something deep in me clench.  He eased down on his side next to me.  Leaning over, he kissed down my throat and loosely coiled the drawstring of my chemise about his fingers.  I brought my hand up over his and pulled the drawstring loose impatiently.  I curled my hands into his hair, pressing his mouth against my skin.  It wasn't enough; I couldn't feel enough of his body.

I hooked one leg round his hips and pulled him over atop me.  His weight impressed every contour, every curve of his body into mine.  I cried out at that delicious pressure.  The jewel on its chain slid down my throat, coming to rest as a warm weight between our bodies. His hand tightened convulsively on the sleeve of my chemise. He turned his head and whispered to me; "Are you sure?"  I slid my legs up about his waist and pulled him to me.  He found my bodice laces and began untying them.  I arched my back, until I could feel him pressing into me. Even through my skirt and his breeches, he felt good.  I tilted my hips against his experimentally, and he inhaled sharply.  One of the laces snapped in his hand.  I shrugged the bodice off immediately.  My chemise was already untied so it came off as well.  

He was up on one arm, looking down at me. The light from the fire lit the side of his body, glowing along his bare chest.  His braces had fallen down around his hips.  I pulled them up and then traced along them to where they buttoned into his breeches. I slid my fingers caressingly inside the waistband and leisurely unbuttoned them. I did the right side first, and slowly eased my hands across his body to the left.  When I finished, he had closed his eyes and I could see a dew of perspiration on his upper lip. He exhaled a long breath, as I pulled him down onto me and reached around to his back.  His body was as taut as a bowstring.  Again, I followed the braces down until I could slide one hand inside the cloth and unbutton the back fastenings.  Then I dropped them on the floor.  

I turned my head and kissed his mouth, running my tongue along his lips.  I could taste the saltiness on his skin. He raised his head, and kissed me hard, demandingly.  I tightened my legs around him, sliding my hands around to the small of his back.  He turned part way onto his side, pulling me with him, and reached for the closures on my skirt. He loosened them quickly, and I kicked it off.  My hands were shaking when I reached for the fastenings of his breeches.  I only managed to undo half the buttons before he pulled the cloth down over his hips.  He kicked them off, and I threw my arms around him and kissed him open-mouthed.  

He rolled back over atop me, and I thought my heart would stop.  I moaned into his mouth.   I wrapped my legs around his hips, and arched up to meet him. I looked at him above me, seeing what I'd seen in my dream…was it only last night?  His blue eyes nearly closed, his cheeks flushed with exertion.  The feelings, and his body were unlike anything I'd ever felt.  I was trembling with desire.  I kissed the corner of his mouth, and ran my hands down his smooth back.  I wanted more of him.  My body felt as if a fire was licking along it.  This whole time we'd said almost nothing, speaking with caresses and kisses and soft noises.  But now, he stiffened, his lips muffled against my skin and hair.  "Tansy," he said, his voice catching.  And I cried his name back to him, over the roaring of the fire in my ears, dissolving into heat and motion and life and pain…again. 

When the tremors of ecstasy eased, I found myself lying sprawled over the divan.  Frodo was a sweetly heavy weight atop me, quiescent.  His breathing tickled my ear as it gradually slowed.   I let one leg fall, but left the other curled around the tops of his thighs.  I ran my hands over his back caressingly, luxuriating in a wonderful combination of fatigue and smug self-satisfaction.  His back was damp with sweat and my hands slid along his skin easily.  I circled from shoulders to buttocks and back again, delighting in the minutiae of his body.  _My lover's body._  

My fingers found a smooth regular line along the back of his neck.  I turned my head, and saw the silvery white of a healed scar, with the chain of his necklace overlying it.  I swallowed hard.  The Ring.  The blasted, damned Ring.  He'd said it had cut into his neck, but I hadn't realized…  I returned to caressing his back gently, trying to communicate through my hands.  I stroked his hair, lifting the curls away from his head and wrapping them about my fingers.  I pulled one lock gently straight and realized that it nearly touched the top of his shoulder blades.  I began amusing myself by combing through various locks and seeing how long they were.  

He finally spoke.  "That tickles," he said, so softly I wouldn't have heard him save for his lips being next to my ear.

I stilled my hands at once. "Shall I stop?" I asked.            

"No, don't," he murmured drowsily.  "It's pleasant. I'd forgotten how soothing a woman's hands are."

"Sometimes 'soothing' is correct," I said mischievously, "and sometimes not."

I felt him smile.  I could feel the small movements of his face and I knew he was smiling.  "Yes, that is true."  He began to stir, as if to roll to the side and I tightened my leg, holding him still.

"Aren't I heavy?" he asked.

"Not at all," I answered.  "I'd just as soon you stayed exactly where you are." The sensation was wondrous.  I had missed this.   

He was silent for a while, then raised one hand and brushed my hair back away from his face.  "Tansy…." He began, and then stopped.  I waited quietly.  I expected that he would feel some sort of discussion was called for.  "After learning about what Merry had asked of you, I didn't think…" 

 "Frodo, yes, Merry asked me to spend time with you."  I smiled into the darkness.  "But I'm here because I wish to be.  Because I was driving myself mad in thinking and wondering about you.  If I'm to be completely truthful, I was attracted to you that first day."

His shoulders relaxed a little.  "I wondered if I was so idiotic as to completely misread everything you'd said to me."

"No," I whispered.  

He hesitated and said tentatively, "Still…even after hearing….?"

I felt a stab of sorrow so sharp, tears threatened.  How could he, after everything he'd done, still doubt himself? And yet, it was the Quest and the suffering that had done this, had broken him so.  "Yes, Frodo.  Even more so, after learning all you've borne."

He propped his head on one hand, and looked into my eyes intently.  In this dim light, his eyes were shadowed, a dark misty-blue, like twilight in high summer.  I looked back at him, and let him see how much I wanted him, even now.  The tension melted away, and I saw a flash in his eyes of the same self-satisfaction I'd felt.  I dropped my eyes to his lips, remembering the almost hypnotic pleasure of sliding my lips over his.  Such a small thing, and yet the sensation had engulfed me, until that was all I could feel, all I could imagine, the motion of his lips on mine, and exploring his taste and smell.   

It was too soon, wasn't it?  I caressed his thighs, touching him lightly on the inner surfaces where I knew he'd be sensitive.  I felt the muscles bunch up.  It was not too soon.  I looked up at him, and he bent his head and kissed me.  

The sweetness of his tongue sliding into my mouth, made me feel as if I had never existed before this moment.  I gripped his hips tightly, and the motions left me dizzy and breathless.  I couldn't speak to him or gasp out his name since his mouth still covered mine.  The pleasure and the tension began coiling inexorably in my belly.  I pushed against him urgently, and he responded.  He rose up on his hands, and then pulled us both up. He slid his hands underneath me and lifted me, then stood, still holding me against him.  I wrapped my arms about his shoulders and tightened my legs around his waist.  

"I think we'll be more comfortable in the bedroom, don't you?" he said simply, only a slight strain in his voice.  I nodded silently, and he walked toward the bedroom adjoining the sitting room.  I could feel every rippling movement in his muscles as he moved us.  I kissed along his throat, and found the freckle again.    

He eased us down onto his bed, turning so I lay atop him.  A flicker of surprise soaked into my lust-addled brain.  Tory had always been a full on, all out type of lover.  My eyes flew open and I eased up a little to look at him "Slowly," he whispered.  "We have time, don't we?  Or do you have an appointment I should know about?"

I ran my mouth along his neck.  "No, I don't think so," I said softly, letting my lips move against his skin.  "Other than with Frodo Baggins, that is." He exhaled softly and slid his hands tenderly over my body.  He rocked upward and I cried out at the intense sensation.  His breathing had quickened and I thought I would melt into ecstasy that instant.  "Slowly," I gasped. "This isn't nearly slow enough."

His hands tightened on my waist.  "It isn't?" he murmured.  His full lips were parted as he breathed, and his incredibly blue eyes were hazy and out-of-focus.  I looked at his body, the lithe body I'd been imagining, and I saw it on his breast, a little above his heart.  Marring the smooth ivory of his skin was a small white scar, barely a fingers-width long and half again as wide.  I immediately realized I was looking at the wound from the Wraith, the one he'd said continued to pain him.  I could no more resist the sudden impulse that came over me than I could resist falling in love with him.  

I bent and put my lips on the scar.  I could feel a faint chill in my lips and I shivered thinking of it.  "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Is this the scar that pains you?" I asked him, not removing my lips from it.  He swallowed hard.  I could see it out of the corner of my eye. 

"Yes," he answered throatily.

"And does it pain you now?"  I opened my lips and licked slowly all about and over the scar, as if I could wipe away the pain and torment he'd felt.  

"No," he gasped.  

"Good." I said.  He looked up at me, and twined his fingers in my hair, pulling my face down to his. I licked along his lips, and whispered.  "I only want you to feel me, until you couldn't possibly think of anything else. Anything else."   As I spoke, I started to pull away from him, and I saw his jaw tense and he said, "I think you have your wish." And he grabbed my waist, and rolled us both over until he was atop me again.  We both cried out.  He slid his hands up my back until he could clasp my shoulders and pin me between his hips and his hands.  I stopped thinking about anything then, too caught up in the motions and rhythms of our bodies.  An endless time later, I heard him gasping and the tension within me exploded into bright lights behind my eyes. 


	8. We Lay, Till New Emotions Came

**We Lay, Till New Emotions Came**

When I awoke, it was daylight.  I was curled on my side, and I could feel Frodo's body against my back, fitted to me closely.  I lay there, savoring the fatigue in my muscles, even the slight ache in my thighs and hips.  We were covered with a quilt, something he must've done.  I had fallen asleep as soon as our bodies stopped moving.  A shiver ran across my skin as I thought about the night we'd passed.  I shifted my hips back a little until I could feel him.  

He shifted slightly and whispered, "Are you awake?"  

"Yes," I answered.  My faint feeling of awkwardness was quickly dispelled when he nuzzled his face against the back of my neck and slid one arm familiarly around my waist.   

He planted a gentle kiss on my shoulder, and said,  "Good morning."

I felt a rush of warmth along my body and down between my legs.  I couldn't believe my own reaction to him.  I wanted to turn and pull him into me.  "Good morning, indeed," I said.  I could feel him growing hard, and I draped one leg over his hips, pushing back against him.  

 "Mmm..." he murmured, running one hand along my thigh.  He hugged me tighter and said, "Gifts unbidden, undreamt of.  Never knowing.  Are you always that correct this quickly?  Or am I merely extraordinarily lucky?"   

 It was becoming difficult to think.  His hands were wandering about my thighs and hips while he nibbled along my shoulder.  "You're extraordinarily lucky.  Or perhaps I am, I don't know.  What was the question again?" 

He laughed a little breathlessly and pulled me closer.  And that was when we heard a loud tapping, followed by the distinctive sound of his door opening. I gasped and he started, jerking the quilt up over us both.  I slid down, wondering who was visiting Frodo at this hour of the morning.  My mind answered _Merry?_   Frodo's body was warm next to me, half sitting with the quilt pulled up to his shoulders to hide my presence.  We glanced at each other wryly and I felt a frisson of mortification at the situation. _Just cheering him up, Merry_, I thought with an internal groan. _Oh, dear._  

Then a familiar voice called out, "Mr. Frodo, are you awake?  I have a tray for you, where do you want it?"  It was Brandy Hall's Cook, a little round dumpling of a hobbit who'd been in charge of the kitchens for nearly 50 years.   

I looked at Frodo in surprise.  He met my eyes, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.  Then he sat up slowly and grabbed a dressing gown and pulled it on.  Leaving the bedclothes cannily bunched up about me, he walked through to the sitting room, stopping where he would block Cook's view of the bedroom.  His voice was almost entirely natural as he said, "I think the table there would be fine, Cook, thank you."   

He had carefully not closed the bedroom door, avoiding even the appearance of having something to hide.  I was overcome with admiration for his calm competence until I remembered the likely state of the sitting room.  I wondered if Cook's next words would be, "Oh here, Mr. Frodo, by what appears to be a hastily removed skirt and bodice, chemise, and breeches?  Or over there by the ripped…shirt?" 

Instead, I heard the tray set down and then she said, "I hope this'll keep you until elevenses."  I peeked out and caught sight of a pile of neatly folded clothes on the chair next to the bed.  All our clothes were there. 

Cook continued on: "Mr. Merry said as how you weren't feeling well today, could I make up some trays."

I thought in irritation that it was one thing to speculate on the absence of privacy in Brandy Hall, and quite another to have it so completely confirmed.  Frodo sounded bemused when he answered.  "I'll thank Mr. Merry later, then."  He recovered himself, and said gallantly, "You shouldn't have brought it yourself, Cook, heavy as it is.  The Brandybucks would be upset if you injured yourself on my account."  

She clucked maternally and said, "I'm not so old that I can't carry a tray, boyo.  And I wanted to see for myself how you were.  You look much better than I expected, if I may say so.  Still, it's food and rest you need.  Why, you weren't nearly so skinny when you lived here.  I don't think those Hobbiton folk know how to set a decent table!"  When I heard the door close, I sat up and looked over at him.  He was standing by the table holding an envelope.  He opened and read it, then brought it to me.  It read thusly:

Frodo,

I know you haven't been feeling well, so I am insisting you get some rest today.  I have a great many things to see to as I've just received word that Estella will be arriving unexpectedly today.  I've left orders that you are not to be disturbed, except for meal trays.

Remember throwing Sancho Proudfoot out of Bag End?  I'd ask his sister to look in on you, but she's had a quarrel with another member of the family and is sulking in her room.   But it's an ill wind that blows no good, as the saying goes.

Merry 

I looked up at Frodo, somewhat shocked, and with the thought that Frodo had gotten the better excuse.  There was more to Merry than I'd given him credit for.  I supposed he was put out with me, though, since Estella was bound to be in a rather delicate mood when she arrived.  "Well, Merry knows," I said tentatively, wondering how he would react.

He stared at me for a moment and then laughed. "Merry, that schemer.  I should have realized when he was oh-so-surprised I'd seen you that day.  Mad with grief, he said.  Broods for hours in the cemetery every day.  'Poor Tansy.' I shouldn't take her lack of social graces personally."

I stared at him, my mouth open.  "Merry said that?"  _And you think I'm beautiful? _I sat back, and folded my arms.  "And then came along and made me promise to spend time with you?  Why….  Why…that…" Words failed me and I just looked at him.  

He laughed again.  "At least he's provisioned us well," he said.  I picked up my chemise and shook it out, holding it up to him.  "This isn't where I remember leaving it," I teased.  

He paused in the act of lifting a dish cover and his cheeks turned bright red.  "I thought you might need to leave early and I didn't want you to have to search for your clothes."  I shrugged into the loose linen garment and wrapped my arms about myself, suddenly chilled.  

"Would you like me to leave?" I asked him, trying to sound casual. "If you have things to do, I can always see you later."

He swung 'round, looking surprised.  "No, I don't want you to leave.  Not at all, I wasn't sure how you felt, though and…" he trailed off when I shook my head, smiling.   Relief blossomed in my chest.  

I held out my arms to him and he walked back into the bedroom.  "Perhaps I should stop thinking, then?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

I ran my hands over his upper arms and shoulders, and to the fastenings of his dressing gown. "Perhaps."

That day passed dream-like.  I was gloriously intoxicated with the sight and smell and feel of him, and he seemed like-minded.  Neither of us left his rooms all day, and we only ate a little of the masses of food the cook sent up every three hours. 

Late in the day, we were cuddled into a warm bath.   His tub, though larger than mine, still crowded two hobbits.  I was sitting between his legs, curled against his chest.  We said very little, being both fairly exhausted.   He had his head tipped back against the edge of the tub, his eyes closed.  His hair was plastered flat and the heat of the bath had raised a fine sheen of sweat along his brow and the sides of his face.  I had my head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.  My hair was loose down my back, the dark strands swirling in the water.  He lifted one of my hands and pressed it to his lips.  "Will you stay tonight?" he asked gently.  

"Mm-hmmm.." I sang the chorus of the old song drowsily.  "O whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad, O whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad, though' father and mother and clan go mad, whistle and I'll come to you, my lad…."

He chuckled softly, and kissed the top of my head.  "I could become accustomed to that."  He hesitated, then added, "I think you would be very easy to love, Tansy."  

I forced my voice even.  "I think you would be entirely too easy to love, Frodo."  I spoke nothing but truth; I loved him already.

"I imagine Merry will want to speak with me tomorrow," he said musingly.  I felt a surge of rebellion. I knew Tilly would say that I'd just ruined myself, but I found myself not caring what others thought. _I'm no blushing virgin, after all. Why should it matter who I share my bed with? _

"Yes," I said thoughtfully.  "And we should be sure he's up and about early.  After all, I'm sure he'll have a lot to do, with Estella visiting and all."

Frodo started laughing.  "And how shall we do that?"

"Simple," I replied slyly. "We'll take him a breakfast tray.  Return the favor, as it were." 

After the bath, we climbed into his bed as easily as if we'd been doing it for years.  He seemed to fall asleep immediately, but I lay awake a little while.  I wondered what Tory's family was thinking today.  I had little faith in Merry's ruse deceiving Opal or Dahlia, but I didn't think they'd say much.  I hadn't gone to the cemetery today.  _Remember Toby, Tansy?  Toby is dead… Remember how he smelled?  That sweet baby scent, as if nothing bad could ever happen to him?  _Tears trickled out the corners of my eyes.  I kept my breathing even, so I wouldn't wake Frodo.  A_ joy, a gift,_ I reminded myself.  _Mine for a little while, to love and then give back._  

_Quite the one for thinking with your heart, aren't you, Tansy?_ the voice responded.  _Just how do you see this romance ending? _I shifted in the bed uneasily, staring out into the dark.  Only thin slivers of moonlight peeked into the bedroom through the slats of the window's shutters.  __

_I don't know and it doesn't matter_.  _I love him for now, even if it doesn't end in honorable marriage or suchlike.  _The night changed the contours of the room I'd felt comfortable in earlier.  It seemed unfamiliar and unwelcoming.  _What am I doing here?_ I thought.  _I don't belong here_.  I turned and laid my head on Frodo's shoulder.  He shifted and lifted one hand briefly to my hair, then his breathing slowed again.  _Here…yes, I can belong here…_  With these thoughts, I finally went to sleep.

I awakened very early, when it was still dark.  For an instant, I had no idea where I was.  Next to me, Frodo was saying something, still asleep.  I pressed my ear to his back, listening.  

"It's gone," he murmured, "Gone."  And then, louder, "Sam, no!  Not Sam, please….no…." I took his shoulders and shook him gently.  

"Frodo, wake up, it's a nightmare." I whispered in his ear.  My fingers touched a scarred depression on the left side of his neck.  He started awake violently, breathing heavily.  I could feel him shaking under my hands.  

"Who are you?" he asked suddenly.  "Don't touch me!"

I recoiled, hurt to the quick.  I tried to reveal nothing except concern and care.  "Tansy, Frodo.  It's Tansy."

He quieted in the dark, then turned over and laid his head on my shoulder.  I put my arms around him, stroking his hair.  "Tansy, yes, I remember now," he said dreamily. I felt his hand go to the white jewel on its chain around his neck, and he sighed deeply.

"I'm sorry," he said so softly I almost didn't hear him.  "I can't believe I said that to you."

"Please, Frodo, don't give it another thought.  I understand."  I moved my hands down to massage his shoulders, noticing with a shiver that the left seemed just a little cooler than the right.  "Do you want to talk about your nightmare?"

He tensed a little.  "I dreamt I was back in the hands of the orcs," he said tonelessly.  "My neck aches."   I stroked his hair gently.  _Hadn't he done enough, taken enough?  _

I had to part his hair and raise my head to see the discolored pit, being careful not to touch it. _Why must his beautiful body be marked so?_

"It's the Spider-sting," he said quietly.  "In my dreams, it happens all over again.  I lose the Ring and then find Sam has taken it.  And I want to kill him."  He buried his face in my hair, loose on the pillow.  "It's a terrible thing to know your own capacity for evil." 

 "You have no capacity for evil, Frodo," I said firmly.  I felt him shake his head.  "No, listen to me, I know it."  I closed my eyes, thinking back to what he'd said.  "You have the capacity to break…" I had to swallow hard.  "Under pain and suffering and torment…  To lose your ability to direct your own actions and make your own choices.  But that reflects nothing of you.  There is no evil in you.  I know it, I feel it."

He was silent for a long time, but I could feel the butterfly-soft brush of his eyelashes, and I knew he was still awake.  Finally, he whispered, "Thank you."

"Why do you still have nightmares?  The Ring has been destroyed for over a year."

He answered matter-of-factly,  "Because I was hurt too deeply.  I'll bear these wounds the rest of my life." 

"Couldn't some of those wise ones, Elrond or Galadriel heal you?"

"No, they did what they could, but they could not heal me fully." He hesitated a moment, and added.  "Arwen and Galadriel seemed to think I could be healed fully only in the West, by going over sea with the Elven Ring-bearers when they leave Middle Earth." He paused, and I felt a dreadfully sick roil in my stomach.  Then he went on.  "I will not leave the Shire, however.  During the Quest, I only ever wanted to come home.  That thought helped sustain me nearly 'til the end."

"You once said Bilbo would go into the West.  Why?" I asked.

A dim grey light was slowly replacing the dark in the room, as dawn began lightening the sky.  "He was a Ringbearer, as well."

"As you and Sam were," I said. 

"Yes."

"And what of Sam?"  

"He is married, Tansy.  He would not leave Middle Earth, either, unless…" he stopped short.  I thought I could imagine what he'd been about to say.  I felt as if I understood Sam.  We both loved Frodo, in our way.  Sam would never leave Middle Earth, unless Frodo did.  

Frodo raised his head, his face a study of contrasts.  Grey, with deeply shadowed eyes and mouth.  "I am no fit lover for you, Tansy," he said quietly.  

"Don't say that, Frodo. I'd have no other."

He looked at me meditatively.  "What day is it?"

I had to count up for a minute.  "September third," I replied, feeling a pang.  It was getting close to Toby's birthday.  I pushed that thought away.

He sighed.  "I'll get ill again soon, most like.  You would be better off if you left now, and never thought of me again." 

"Ill?  From what?" 

In answer, he pressed my hand against his left shoulder.  I caught my breath.  The tiny chill I had felt in the scar yesterday was once more localized and distinctly abnormal.   "It will get worse until October sixth…. and I will be ill with it.  Then, slowly it will ease, and heal as much as it ever does."

"I'll lay in a stock of warm quilts and blankets."

"Tansy…" 

"No, I'll not listen to this nonsense," I said shrilly.  "If you're ill, and you'll accept my help, then you'll have it.  If you refuse my help, then I'll wait for you to get better."

"You don't understand—"

I pulled his face to mine with my hands.  "I cared for Tory his last night alive.  I cared for Toby for _four days_ while he died in my arms, a little more each day.  Don't tell me I don't understand!"  I released him and tried to still my trembling.  "I understand, Frodo.  I understand what you've said…. and I understand what you've left unsaid, as well.  It changes nothing to me."

The room had lightened enough that I could see his face clearly now.  He closed his eyes.  "Of course you understand," he said quietly.  He picked up my hand and kissed the palm gently, then put his head back on my shoulder.

I stared blindly into the faint morning light.  Was he afraid he would die in this illness?  I seemed to hear his words repeating, echoing like a death knell.  _I could be healed by going over sea.  I will be ill with it.  Healed fully only in the West._  I realized with some surprise that I loved him well and truly.  Why else would the thought of him going over sea to live out his life hurt so?  After a time, when the room was lit with golden light, I stirred and told him, "I'll make you some tea before I go down to the kitchens."

"What for?" he said drowsily.

"The tray for Merry, of course."

"Oh." He looked at me in surprise.  "You were serious about waking him up early, then?"

"Why not? You said you wanted to see him, and he's bound to be busy with Estella visiting. It seems a shame to spend the day indoors waiting about to catch him.  Perhaps then we can go out this afternoon."  I still had no intention of leaving him and Merry alone together initially.  They were both too honorable and would have us separated in no time.  

"All right, then, that sounds wonderful."   I didn't miss the hesitation in his answer, but I guessed correctly that he would not consider telling me I couldn't go with him. 

After dressing, I walked over to the kitchens.  They were in a separate building to the side of Brandy Hall so that if (some said _when_) they caught on fire, the entire Hall wouldn't burn down.  For convenience there was a short stone-floored and roofed passageway between the kitchen and Brandy Hall.  The dining hall was immediately off that passageway to minimize the cooling of the food as it was carried in at meals.  

Despite the early hour, the main kitchen was a beehive of activity. Cook and her helpers were running about roasting ham and sausages, and baking bread in preparation for second breakfast.  Several covered trays stood to one side, ready to be delivered.  As far as Esmeralda was concerned, the members of the household could come down to eat, or feed themselves in their rooms or go hungry, but there were always a few exceptions. 

One of the maids saw me and came over.  "Yes, Miss Tansy?" she said politely, catching Mrs. Hobbs' eye.  Mrs. Hobbs wiped her hands and frowned magnificently.  I fought the urge to duck my head and mutter, like a hobbit-lass hoping for a treat.    

"I saw Mr. Frodo Baggins in the hall, he said he was coming to the kitchen to get a breakfast tray for Mr. Merry, and so I offered to help him," I said in a rush.  

"He did, did he?" Cook grumbled.  "I suppose it's a gracious thought and thank you, but why didn't the lad think of this last night?"  As she spoke, she picked up an empty tray with several platters and began rapidly dumping piping hot scones, bread, cheese, and sausages onto it.  "Get another tea pot, Ginny, and some of those eggs," she called to the maid, adding small crocks of jam, a pitcher of milk and silver utensils.            

"Why is it a gracious thank-you?" I asked as innocently as possible.  She eyed me thoughtfully, and shook her head.    

"Nothing, Miss, nothing at all. There, now, and I've got extra on in case he invites you to dine with." She finished adding covers to the platters and hefted the tray.  "It's a bit heavy," she said doubtfully.  "Don't you want Ginny or Elsie here to take it?"            

"Not at all," I said hastily.  "I told Mr. Baggins I'd meet him outside Merry's suite.  I want a chance to say hello to Merry this morning before second breakfast."            "Oh, aye, of course," Mrs. Hobs said, smiling. "Well, if Mr. Merry is cross with you it won't be because of my cooking."  Ginny and Elsie exchanged looks and giggles.  I had had first-hand experience before with the fact that the servants knew everything that happened in the Hall.  Sometimes they seemed to know about it before it happened.  Now, it was obvious they knew about Tilly's fears that I had set my cap for Merry, her subsequent message to Estella and our quarrel.   _Right, they think I'm trying to get back into Merry's good graces,_ I thought resignedly.  _Well, soon enough they'll know it's not _Merry _I was after…_ I suppressed a grin at that thought.

A short time later we were knocking on the doors of Merry's quarters. He had lived in the Crickhollow house with Pippin for a time after his return, but lately was staying mostly in Brandy Hall.  Saradoc was relying more on him for help with some of the Master's responsibilities.  His sleepy face reflected his astonishment at seeing us outside his door shortly after dawn.  "Good morning, Merry," I said cheerfully, walking over and setting the tray on a low side-table.  "Here's a breakfast tray.  I'm sure you have a great deal of work to do today."

Merry shot a glance at the open door leading deeper into the suite and nonchalantly went over and closed it.  

Frodo looked amused.  "I had to come and thank you, since you arranged for my meals yesterday, when I was…. being reclusive."  I had to smile to myself.  He had to be sure that Merry knew, and still he spoke as if he'd been alone.  He can't not be decent, I thought marveling.  

Merry perched on the arm of a chair.  "I see," he said thoughtfully.  "You seem much improved today, Frodo."  There was an undercurrent of laughter in his voice.

"Yes, well, perhaps you were right," Frodo said shrugging.  He couldn't forebear from grinning a bit, however, that cocky and intensely male grin that shouts how pleased with themselves they are. 

It was all Merry needed.  He jumped up and hugged him.  "I'm gladder than glad you're feeling better," he announced.  "I think Tansy must have had something to do with this transformation," he teased.  

Frodo and I glanced at each other but said nothing, and he finished, "I've been worried about you both, I don't mind saying."

I looked hard at him, trying to see behind the good-humored mask.  "And where does the Master's heir get his information?" I asked him.  

He looked indignant.  "Not from spies, if that is what you're implying, dear cousin.  The Master's heir has brains, which come in a sight more useful than spies even."

"Oh yes," said Frodo, in a mock-serious tone, "didn't you know that Merry is the brilliant one of the bunch?"  He spoke lightly, secure in his own scholarly credentials.  

"I don't know about _brains _so much," I said thoughtfully.  "But you are definitely the _clever_ one, Merry.  Quite the clever hobbit." 

They both looked at me.  Frodo was smiling, thinking I was joining in the ribbing.  But for a moment, Merry's mask slipped and he looked at me with a bit of surprise and respect.  Then he grinned and the glimpse faded.  "So speaks the lady who leaves a condemnatory note under Tilly's door."  

"How was I to know she would give it to Frodo?" I said sulkily. Merry guffawed but Frodo looked surprised.  

"You knew about the note?" Frodo asked him. 

Merry shrugged innocently. "Not until the next day, Frodo.  Mentha told me she'd seen you reading something Tilly dropped.  I didn't figure it for a love letter.  By the time I tracked down Tilly to find out what it was, I'd already heard Cook say you were resting and seemed well." 

 I looked down at the floor glumly.  Now Merry would laugh at me and tease and I'd never hear the end of it.  Frodo slid an arm around my shoulders and gave me a comforting squeeze.  I covered his hand with mine, caressingly, looking up at him.  Then Merry cleared his throat and I jumped.  He looked at us pointedly, and then at the closed door across the room again.  "Well, as much as I've enjoyed talking to you, I do have a busy day," he said, ushering us toward the door.  "I do thank you for the breakfast." 

Frodo looked confused, but I raised my eyebrows at Merry laughingly, cutting my eyes toward the door he seemed so eager to keep us from.  He sketched me an ironic little bow, and started closing the door behind us.  His parting comments were "I'll see you later, Frodo, and Tansy, don't think you don't have some making up to do with Estella."

Frodo regarded me curiously for a moment.  "What did he mean about Estella?" he asked.  

"Nothing important, " I said, leaning against the wall and smiling up at him.  "She does tend to be a little jealous sometimes, though.  And with a lonely widow in Brandy Hall.."

"A lonely widow?" he questioned.  He stepped closer to me and just brushed my lips with his.  "Surely not."  I pressed myself closer and kissed him.  In the morning light, the nightmare he'd had seemed very far away.  He took my hand with a smile.  "Shall we go and eat together?"  

"Well, really, I should wash up and change clothes, Frodo," I said with a little laugh, wishing I weren't blushing in embarrassment. 

"Oh, of course," he said.  "And I'm sure you have other things to do."

"Not at all," I teased. "My days are surprisingly vacant.  I'm sure I can accommodate you."  

He began walking down the hallway.  "But for what?" he replied.

"Whatever you want," I said honestly. 

He stopped at the intersection of this corridor with the one that led to the dining hall.  He started down it, but I didn't release his hand so that it stretched out between us.  He looked back at me over his shoulder.  "Joining me then?"  I dropped his hand and sighed heavily.  He chuckled.  "I'll see you after second breakfast."  

I started down the other hallway, grumbling wordlessly to myself.  Once I reached my little apartment, I stepped inside and looked around.  Had it really only been a day since I'd been here last?  It seemed musty and closed off; as if this small space already knew its principle inhabitant had left.  

I shrugged off these fancies, and walked into the bedroom.  I was startled at the amount of disorder present.  I remembered tipping the mattress over, but apparently it had caught the side table on the way down and tipped that over, as well.  The pottery vase had smashed, and the water had soaked into the mattress and bedding.  _Thank goodness it was clean water._  

I suddenly realized that for over a day, I had not thought about the small glass bottle that had sent me rushing to Frodo's room.  I couldn't simply leave it there.  For one thing, it was rare and dear, and could be important to the healer.  And for another…   I started for the door, and then held my clothes away from me with a grimace.  Frodo was eating second breakfast, and I surely had time to freshen up.  I'd worn the maroon bodice and skirt for two days, and I was right sick of them.

I went into the kitchen area of the front room and ran some water from the pump into the sink.  I stripped and washed up quickly but thoroughly, shivering.  I combed out my hair and re-braided it.  Luckily my wardrobe was on the wall furthest from the crumpled bedding and broken crockery.  I pulled on a fresh chemise and a simple yellow dress and underskirt.   

I was sweeping up pieces of crockery when I heard my front door open.  I glanced up and saw Frodo standing in the doorway, looking shocked.

"What happened?"

I was kneeling on the floor with my small brush and dustpan.  I looked around the room, and back up at him.  "I was looking for that blasted bottle and …  got impatient, I guess."

 "Remind me never to keep you waiting, then," he said dryly.  "Here, let me help you."  He began gathering up the bedding. 

"Mind the broken bits, they're sharp," I said.  " Frodo, since we are on the subject of the other night..." I let my voice trail off, feeling a combination of chagrin and nervousness.

He ignored that and said, "Where do you want these?"  He had an armful of blankets and pillows.  

 "In there by the wash tub is fine," I said, pointing into the front room.  "I'll have to wash it all anyway."  I finished sweeping the pottery shards into the dustpan and dropped them into my dustbin. I got down on the floor to tug the side table out from under the mattress.  I would have to repeat myself.  He came in and knelt down next to me.  I took a deep breath.  "As I was saying, since we are on the subject—"

He took my hand, holding it out flat, palm up.  "Is this what you are referring to?"  He dropped a glass bottle in my hand and folded my fingers around it.  A quick glance ascertained it was the poppy distillation.  I held it up to my chest and looked at him in surprise.  His lips were curved into the faintest of smiles.  

"How—" I began curiously, and didn't finish, for he leaned over and kissed me, lingeringly.  The hand holding the bottle fell limply to my lap, and I put my other arm around his shoulders.  His lips were warm and I could taste the tiniest hint of tea and honey on his mouth.  My head began to swim and I straightened up and away from him, regarding him steadily.  

"Changing the subject?" I asked him.  

The little smile quirked his lips again.  "Not at all," he answered.  I realized I was staring at his lips as he spoke and tried looking into his eyes.  I rose up on my knees to get closer to him, feeling a little quiver in my thighs.  He continued, "It's time it was returned, don't you agree?" 

My hand tightened unconsciously on the smooth rounded glass.  How many times had I longed for an end to grieving, to sorrow?  I wondered how often he had thought of peace and freedom from his wounds.  "And how do you feel?" I asked him.  

He hesitated and looked away. After a moment, he shrugged.  "I've been wrapped up in my own woes for long enough. And that is no way to live."  I rubbed my hand along his shoulders, feeling the silver chain he wore through his shirt.  Belying the ease of his words, the muscles of his neck were taut with unexpressed tension.  I felt a rush of tenderness and leaned my head down onto his shoulder.  

"Yes," I said softly.  "Thank you."  I wanted to say more, to say _I love you_, but my throat closed and my courage failed me.  His arms came up around me, and he embraced me tightly.  We sat there in silence for a time, enjoying our own warm closeness.  

I inhaled against his neck, savoring this small intimacy.  He was fragrant, like green forestlands baked under a warm summer sun.  Fresh, with an earthy undertone.  He hadn't changed since I'd seen him earlier and I fancied I could smell a lingering remnant of myself on him, the way a bed holding two will come to smell of both and neither, a commingling at the most elemental level.  I inhaled his scent into my lungs and fair shook with desire for him, desire and more, a wanting that both included and overwhelmed sexuality.  

I wanted him, to be with him, to wake by him every morning, and sleep by him each night.  I wanted to watch his face and see his moods flickering across it.  I wanted to disagree with him and feel the utter freedom that comes of knowing no matter how you argue, the other loves you still.  I wanted to know him and be known in return, until we two could glance at each other and share what we thought, as I'd seen other long-married couples do.  I wanted all those things and I was beginning to think that he wanted them as well…if it were possible. 

"You're shivering," he said softly.

"Just a chill," I answered.  I closed my eyes and pushed away my thoughts.  "A chill, that's all."  I straightened reluctantly, and looked at him.  "I suppose I should finish cleaning this up."

"You could do that," he responded.  "Or you could come with me and go for a walk.  A long walk."

I was immediately tempted, but shook my head.  "I've got to finish.  What if Opal or Dahlia came looking for me?  I don't know what they'd think."

"Of course."  He stood up gracefully, and picked up some more blankets.  I set the bottle on the windowsill and replaced the washstand.  Frodo took the blankets in and dumped it all in the corner by the washtub.  A rather larger pile of laundry than I usually had but not too unremarkable.  Together we wrestled the unwieldy mattress back onto the bed frame.  

"It wasn't nearly this difficult to get off," I panted.  When we finally jostled it into place, I stepped back and looked around.  Once I brushed off the mattress it would look as if I were only stripping and airing out the bed, to a casual eye.  

After I brushed the mattress, I tucked the troublesome bottle into my skirt pouch.  He was waiting patiently.  "Perhaps you need some clothes?"   

I felt a sudden glow of happiness.  I glanced over at him.  "I do?" I said, making it a question.

He flushed.  "I thought you might.  After all, you won't want to sleep here tonight, will you?"  He gestured toward the denuded bed.

The glow died. Intellectually, I understood what he was saying, but still...   I said contrarily, "Well, I'm sure I can get this bed put back together by nightfall."

Realization dawned on his face. He looked up at the ceiling.  "Perhaps I phrased that incorrectly," he said evenly.  "What I meant to do is whistle."  He promptly suited action to word.

I had to laugh, a little embarrassed at my own vulnerability.  "In that case, I will come to you, my lad. And I will need some clothes."  I walked into the other room and picked up a covered hamper that I'd occasionally used for picnics.  It would do nicely.

He caught my arm as I opened the wardrobe.  "Second thoughts?" he asked simply.  

I looked at him thoughtfully.  His intensely blue eyes were filled with concern, and his lips had tightened.  I flattened my free hand along his side, and slid it into the waistband of his breeches. "None," I said softly.  

He smiled gently.  "In that case, bring several."   I complied hastily and we walked out into the hallway together.  

He took the hamper from me.  The poppy-bottle was heavy in my pocket.  I hesitated and looked around, seeing no one. I wanted to have done with it immediately.  The healer had a hinged box on her door so hobbits could leave empty tonic-bottles or notes.  It would hold the poppy-medicine.  

He glanced along the hallway, as well.  "Shall I come along?" he asked.  

"No," I said, uncertainly.  "I'll just pop over and drop it in her door-box."

"I'll be waiting, then," he said.  He leaned over and just brushed my lips with his own, and walked off.  I looked after him, thinking rather dazedly that I really wanted to return to his rooms with him.  Finally, I shook myself and set off.  It felt strange to be walking the corridors of Brandy Hall as if the past day had not happened. I reached the healer's door without meeting anyone and carefully lifted the lid of the box on her door.  I set the deceptively small bottle inside and walked away.

Done! I thought exultantly.  The route to Frodo's room stretched out before me like a pathway of gold…and I hurried along it.  


	9. Worlds Diviner Far Than Earth

**Worlds Diviner Far Than Earth**

Frodo and I spent most of the next week together, as well.  I kept my bed freshly made, although I did not sleep there.  I couldn't leave my bed so obviously unmade without arousing unpleasant talk.  The next Thursday, we planned a long walk along the Brandywine River.  I'd managed to beg fresh bread and cheese from Cook, packed in my hamper with a blanket and a bottle of wine.   It was surprisingly hot for September.  

The path south wound between the River and pastures and little remnants of woods.  We followed the path into one small wood and the River disappeared behind an overgrowth of scrub; mostly broom interspersed with juniper and berry bushes. What looked like a game trail crossed the path at one point, leading to a small break in the stand.  Frodo pointed at this, shifting the hamper to the opposite hand.  

"Still there," he said, sounding surprised.  

"What is?" 

He left the path to peer into the bushes.  I looked over his shoulder and saw a narrow trail that wound into the greenery.  The rushing sounds of the River were louder and clearer.   Frodo stepped cautiously onto the trail.   "It's a shortcut to the River," he said.  I watched him skeptically.  

_Why do we need a shortcut?_ I thought to myself.  _We can walk back that direction and come to the River easily enough. _ He crouched down to avoid an overhang of a prickly berry bush and disappeared.  The air was still and hot, fragrant with the smell of overripe berries and fallen leaves.  

I pressed my skirts close to my side and followed him.  The trail was so overgrown it was as if I were maneuvering through a green-lit tunnel.  Bees and wasps were buzzing about the fruit, preparing for winter.  The trail ended abruptly at a steep bank.  Down the incline, Frodo stood on a miniscule shoreline edging the water.  He gestured to me.  

"Let's wade for a bit," he called.  "The water's lovely and cool."  The river swept around a bend here, and the banks were a tangle of unbroken brush except where we stood. Once I'd scrambled down the slope, I took in the setting with wonder.  I'd thought I was familiar with the area around Brandy Hall, but I'd never seen this before.   Frodo set the hamper on the rocks and stepped into the water, breaking the image of the shoreline into sinuous ripples.  

I looked at the placid water doubtfully.  It went unsaid that I preferred to wade only in places where I was more familiar with the depth and behavior of the water.  I delayed by opening the hamper and pulling out the blanket, spreading it in the sunshine.  

When I finished, I looked around for him.  He hadn't moved away from the shoreline.  His hair shone, the breeze blowing his curls into his eyes.  Oftentimes, his hair appeared black but now the bright sunlight showed the faint golden-brown highlights plainly.  He held out a hand invitingly.  "Aren't you coming?"

"Ye-es," I replied hesitantly.  "Just a minute."  I went back to the hamper and removed the twine from Cook's package, using it to catch up my skirts.  When I'd gotten that done to my satisfaction, he was still waiting.  I stepped tentatively into the water.  The cool water was crystal clear here, letting me see down to the rocky bottom, unlike other spots on the changeable river.  Frodo took my hand, and pulled me further out.  "Slow down," I squeaked.  "I'll fall!"

He half-smiled.  "The water is to your ankles," he pointed out.  "It should be safe."  

"Sure you say that now," I pretended to grumble, pushing away my nervousness.  

He stopped for a minute, looking around us.  "I haven't been here for the longest time.  I used to swim here, sometimes with Merry, once he got old enough.  The water is deeper over towards the other bank.  It was far enough away to seem adventurous and yet close enough to run back for meals."

It _was_ peaceful. Dazzling sun-reflections danced over the water, and the gentle hum of the water lulled the ears. "I've never been here before," I said.

"Not many think to explore that scrub.  Even when the other swimming spots had bathers, this one was usually quiet."  

"Sounds more useful for a tweeny than for a lad," I teased. The water was over my ankles now and I tugged my skirt up a little.  Frodo shaded his eyes and looked at the sky.

"It's warm enough for bathing today," he said thoughtfully.  

I shivered.  "I don't think so."  I felt a light touch on my legs and looked into the water.  Silvery minnows flicked about, occasionally pausing to nibble my skin curiously.  I brought my cupped hands down, and they scattered magically.  Frodo laughed, and I looked up at him.  

"They're warned off by the shadows on the water," he said. He half-crouched and picked up a handful of the rocks from the bottom.  He rinsed them under the water, and held them out.  "Anything interesting?" he asked, dropping them in my hands.  I examined them closely.  They were only smoothed pebbles, but the Brandywine often held unusual rocks, found no place else in the Shire.  Tory used to look for the kind with imprints of tiny plants and shells, and had collected several.   

Frodo walked away from me, scuffling his feet and raising grey swirls in the water.  I scattered the pebbles into the water, and followed.  The water was deeper, climbing to our knees, and no longer clear, but a dark green-gold.  He stepped up onto something, teetered for a moment and steadied.  The water had dropped to his ankles again. 

I looked up at him.  "My word, Mr. Frodo!  How you've grown!"

He turned around, smiling.  "I'm the Thain of the hill."  I put my foot out, feeling the mossy rock he stood upon. 

I stepped onto it, balancing in my turn.  "No, I am."   I grabbed his shoulder to steady myself and he put his arms about me.  

"I don't think this rock is large enough for us both," he said.

I slid my arms about his waist, momentarily distracted by the warmth of his body under the layers of weskit and shirt.  "Indeed?"  I tucked my thumbs into the top of his breeches and tugged sharply.  Our hips and thighs bumped together.    

 He had to let go of me and shift his weight to keep his balance.  "Prevaricator," he accused, stepping away. 

I wavered a moment myself, and he grabbed my arm.  I reached up to his face, to brush back the strands of hair falling in his eyes.  "I'd forfeit for one so fair." 

"Precisely what I—" He stopped abruptly.

I had stepped toward him as he spoke, and now we both felt a subtle shift in the rock that had previously been firm underfoot.  We looked at each other, and the smile on his face changed to alarm.  The rock abruptly rolled sideways under our weight and we threw out our arms, vainly trying steady ourselves. My balance deserted me first and still clutching at Frodo, I tumbled off the boulder into the water.  A nearly simultaneous splash marked Frodo's fall.  My head went under and I landed on my posterior with a jolt.  When I surfaced, sputtering and shivering, I found myself sitting in shoulder-high water.  _It's much colder when one is wet all through. _ Frodo was a little away from me, wiping water from his eyes.  He stood, streaming water, and pulled me up by one arm.  "Tansy, I'm sorry.  I should never have climbed on that rock."

I sighed, plucking at my sodden skirt.  "It's not your fault, Frodo."  My clothes were terribly heavy on my shoulders. I removed the twine I'd used to hold my skirts up and tucked it into my pocket.  _No need for that now_.  

I looked at him ruefully as he stood next to me.  "I owe you an apology.  You probably wouldn't have fallen if not for me."  

He shook his head. "Nonsense," he said.  

His weskit was velvety tweed, now dark with moisture.  The fine material would be ruined without care.  I began undoing its buttons.  "We need to hang this up."

"On a more cheerful note, there's certainly no reason not to swim now, is there?" 

I rolled my eyes at him.  "Now that I know how chilly the water is?  No, of course not.  Speaking of which, you didn't happen to know that that rock would roll, did you?"  I eased his weskit off his shoulders, and walked over to hang it on a tree limb.  

When I turned back to him, he was unbuttoning his shirt.  "I haven't been here for twenty years at least," he said, in a very reasonable tone.  "Is it likely I would remember something like that?"

He shrugged his braces off his shoulders and took off his shirt. He held it up, looking blank, and started to wring it out.  "No, here, Frodo, you'll damage the weave, " I said, taking it to shake out and hang up.  I found a clean limb and spread it to dry.   

He began unbuttoning his breeches, and I looked at him in surprise.  _He'd been serious about swimming, then? _ I suppressed a shiver of unease.  Wading was one thing, but actually being out in the water, with nothing under you and nothing to hold onto?  He met my eyes as I thought about it, and his hands stilled.  When he raised an eyebrow at me questioningly, I realized I was standing there staring at him whilst he undressed.  I blushed red as a beet and whirled around.  

 "Sorry," I muttered.  After a short time, I heard him wading through the water behind me.  I addressed the air before me.  "I think I will sit on the bank and let my dress dry while you swim."  

He stepped in front of me, nude.  "Are you speaking to me, Tansy?"  He tipped my chin up with a finger.  "You didn't need to turn around, you know," he said, his eyes dancing.  "Little late for that, isn't it? I only wondered why you weren't joining me."

"Oh," I said blankly.  His body glowed in the bright September sunshine, from this angle flawlessly perfect.  I felt an urge to trace the planes of him, study him as if I were an artist and would have to draw him from memory sometime soon.  I put my hands on his upper arms, rubbing gentle circles along them.  "I'm not a very strong swimmer, though." 

"I stand ready to offer any needed assistance," he said calmly.  He reached around me to where my dress laced up.  He found the ties and pulled the knot loose.  Then he slid his fingers between the laces and began loosening them with a series of small tugs.  I shivered again, though I didn't feel cold.  I could feel the tickling sensation of his hair against my cheek, and the small movements of his hands.  When all the ties were loose, he flattened his hand on my back and slid it down to where the waistband of the underskirt began.  I shrugged the dress down off my shoulders, and it fell loosely onto my elbows.    

He traced the outlines of the buttons on my underskirt and turned me a little away from him to unfasten them.  I was as still as a mouse menaced by a hawk.  _Was any hawk ever so beautiful?_  The fastenings came loose and my underskirt fell sodden into the water.  My heart was beating ferociously as he untied my chemise. I leaned against him with a little sigh, feeling his bare skin through the loosely woven fabric.  He widened its neckline and slid it slowly off my shoulders and down my body.  His face intent, he steadied me as I lifted first one leg and then the other so he could pick up the soaking wet garments.  He turned to hang them, and I took a few deep breaths and began quickly wading toward the deeper water.  Once it reached my shoulders, I stretched back to float as Tory had taught me.  The water buoyed me up, lapping along my sides.  I paddled my arms gently, savoring the feeling of lightness.   

Then I heard splashing as Frodo swam out into the deeper water, while I floated.  After a quarter of an hour or so, he returned to me, a little breathless.  I rolled toward him and slid my arms about him, resting my chin on his shoulder.  I stretched my toes down and found I could barely touch bottom.  Frodo, taller than I, supported me easily.  Diamond-bright droplets of water beaded on his neck, and the white jewel he always wore gleamed just under the surface on its silver chain. I licked a droplet of water off the angle of his jaw.  "Mmmm" he murmured.   

His skin was cooler than usual, and had a brisk mineral-like tang.  I tucked the damp tendrils of his hair off his forehead.  In the sunlight, his eyes were a brilliant cerulean blue.  He tipped his head to kiss me, his mouth warm and sweet on mine.  I shivered, pressing closer to him, and wrapping my legs about his hips.  He took a step backward in reaction, and the water deepened, lapping my chin.  I instinctively tried to raise myself by pushing down on his shoulders, and nearly sent him under.  

"Oh, Frodo, I'm sorry," I cried.  _Cursed unsteady water!_ I thought. 

He got his balance back and shook his hair back out of his eyes.  "If I drown now, I'll die happy." 

I used my fingers to delicately brush the water off his cheeks and lips.  "Perhaps that's enough swimming for today?" I asked.  His lips quirked, and we turned toward the shore in unspoken mutual consent.  As the water level diminished, I felt myself gathering weight and substance, no longer adrift.  It was an odd shift, as each footstep seemed to fall more heavily than the one before.  The air was uncomfortably cool despite the sunlight.  Once the water had dropped to our knees, I crouched down momentarily, hugging my knees tightly.    

"The water felt chilly to begin with, and the air was hot.  So why am I now colder in the air, and warmer in the water?"  

Frodo stopped and pulled me back to my feet.  "Warmer still would be lying on the shore wrapped in a blanket, don't you think?"

I nodded, shivering, and followed him onto the shore, where the blanket I'd spread earlier waited.  We dropped down onto the warm, rough fabric, and Frodo pulled half of it over us, tucking the edges in.  The sensation of the sun-hot blanket on my chilled skin was delicious.  I curled closely to Frodo's body, basking in it.  

He made a noise, a breathy little exhalation of contentment.   I opened my eyes to look at him, lying next to me on his side.  Rivulets of water on his face and neck gleamed like liquid silver.  I was seized by a sudden fancy that it was silver, that contact with him had changed the water into something precious.  I put my mouth on a trickle on his cheek, and licked it away.  

 He half-raised himself on one elbow and turned to kiss me lazily.   I opened my mouth under his, exploring him.  His hair was still soaking wet and cool droplets rained down on my face like tears. Suddenly the warmth I'd welcomed was stifling.  I pushed the blanket down off our shoulders, and wrapped my arms 'round his neck. 

He lay sideways, facing me with his head resting on one folded arm. I did the same, staring into his eyes.  The afternoon was waning, and the sun's warm rays touched his face obliquely.  One bright blue eye was translucent; the other, dark and fathomless. 

"Frodo," I sighed, touching his half-lit face softly.   He lifted my leg and pulled it over his. His hands were warm and sure.  I could feel him against me.   For a long moment, neither of us moved, only a flicker in his eyes betraying his desire. The sense of expectation was almost unendurable.  I moved forward a scant fingers-length and reached out to his face and stroked the silky damp curls back again.  He turned his mouth into my palm and kissed it.  

"Yes," I whispered to him, pressing toward him.    His breath caught and he gripped my hip firmly.   

"Yes," he answered softly.  He began an achingly dilatory rhythm.  

"Oh, oh," I sighed, enjoying the sensation, flexing with his movements.  He held to his pace, even and unhurried.  Each time he moved forward, I felt the delicious friction, and every brush of our bodies.  Culmination came with our bodies pressed closely.  Then after an agonizing pause, he would rock relentlessly backward.  He would pause for an instant, and then again….and again….  My skin jumped and quivered, and my belly tightened.   Over the blood roaring in my ears, I heard his quick light breaths.   

For a long while, we said nothing, just shifted back and forth until I felt I could bear no more.  Exquisite, unendurable shivers were racing outward from the center of my being. "Oh, Frodo, now," I managed.  

"Wait," he whispered. I gripped his shoulder and moaned and he slid one arm up to hold the back of my neck, kissing me fiercely.  I felt his arms and shoulders trembling, but his deliberate pace never faltered.       

I shook my head to clear it a little and kissed from his lips to his cheek and neck.   I found his earlobe, and traced my tongue around the delicate curve of his ear. He made a little sound in his throat, his body tensing. I pressed against him, wanting to dissolve my body into his, his smell, his heat, his wondrous embrace.  "Now, now," I said, biting back a cry.  

"Yes, now," he gasped.  He rolled forward slightly, just enough to put him a little above me.  I wrapped my legs 'round him tightly.  We could move faster now, and did, until a sheen of sweat covered us both. _Yes, yes, yes…_ I looked up at him.  His hair was wildly askew and his color high.  _Oh, Frodo, I love you_, I thought raggedly, losing myself to him.  His eyes flew to mine and I heard him gasp from far away, and a paroxysm of pleasure rolled over me.

Afterward, we stretched out in the sun.  I curled onto his chest, half-asleep. He lay on his back, arms around me, idly toying with my hair.  "Here, I'll re-braid it for you," he said.  He took a section, separated it and began plaiting it together.  The sensation of his hands in my hair made me shiver.  I slid my bare leg over his hips slowly and he tugged the plait.  "Hold still," he teased. 

"I can't help it," I grumbled.   "Don't you realize how you affect me?  Even Dahlia admitted you were handsome."

"Try and have some hobbit-sense," he said lightly.  

"Oh, I do," I purred.  "Good sense.  Ask anyone."

He laughed to himself as he finished the plait.   He held it out and said thoughtfully, "This part's too short.  Aren't they all the same length?"  I squinted sideways at the lopsided braid.  

"You didn't make the locks equal," I told him.  "That's why it came out uneven.  You'll have to do re-do it now."   

"Or I could just trim the long parts," he said casually.  "Wasn't there a little knife in the hamper?"

I started, sweeping my hair out of his hands.  "You wouldn't!"

He laughed again, a warm rumble under my cheek. He combed the braid out with his fingers, and rubbed his thumbs over the base of my neck.  I nuzzled my face into his neck, sighing with contentment.  A cool wind blew over us, and he shivered. 

"Our clothes must be dry by now, " he said.  "We should go or we'll be late to supper.  Will you join me in the Hall tonight?"

"Yes," I replied, "but I'll need to change first."  His hands stopped short. "What is it?"

He said slowly, "I believe that marks the first time you have agreed to be seen with me in public."

My face grew warm with consternation. "Surely not, Frodo.  There was…" I trailed off, unable to recall a refutation.   

He touched my lips gently, silencing me.  "It's not important."

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.  He was right. And worse, I knew why I'd avoided being seen with him.  

_I don't know him now,_ Tilly had sniffed.

_He's changed, and he's not your type, _Mentha had stated.

_That disreputable Baggins, _Dahlia had snapped.  

I had let myself be influenced by others and undervalued him.  I saw in his eyes that he'd known as well.  There was no anger or hurt in him, just a quiet resignation.  "I'm sorry. You're right.  It is the first time. Forgive me."

His face cleared a little as he pulled me close.  I rested my head on his arm and took a shaky breath.  Then his lips found mine and we talked no more for a while.    


	10. Strains of Harmony

Strains of Harmony 

After that day, we were seen together more often.  I maintained enough discretion to refrain from holding his hand or kissing him in the hallways, and Frodo acted properly as always.  There were a few raised eyebrows, but no outright comments.  And we always went our separate ways at night.   Of course, I usually slipped out again and went to his rooms.  In the nights, I loved him with an appetite that surprised me.  Sometimes I'd look at him with a sort of greedy hunger overlain with sorrow.  I couldn't explain it.

A few days later I arrived early to supper to find him playing with some of the children.  They were playing 'Odd Man Out' a popular game with the sole virtue of making the children run a great deal, thus tiring them.  It did require an odd number of players, though, and only 10 children were in the Hall that night.  He saw me watching him, and rolled his eyes.  I burst out laughing.   

_Line them up, two by two, two by two, two by two, line them up, two by two, to see the King._ They began singing the accompaniment.  They had lined up in two roughly equal lines, facing each other.  Their ages ranged from around 5 or 6 up to 11 and 12.  I saw with amusement that Frodo was next to Tilly's middle lass, a perky chit of 10 or so.__

_Walk them out, one by one, one by one, one by one, walk them out, one by one, to crown the King._  Everyone joined hands, forming one long line and the leader led them running, like a shortened version of crack-the-whip.  Faster and louder they went, with some of the smaller children nearly pulled off their feet.

_Marry them off, till we're done, till we're done, till we're done, marry them off, till we're done, to see the Queen ._  On the last syllable the children scattered, everyone grabbing a partner.  Many tried shaking off the one who'd gotten them and trying to snag someone else.  Mentha's five-year-old grabbed Frodo's hand, smiling at him shyly.  Clematis grabbed his other hand and Mimsy's little face clouded over.  Frodo handed Clematis off to Seren, shrugging and indicating Mimsy.  Then he took Mimsy's hand again, swinging their arms exaggeratedly until she started giggling again.

_Odd man out, all alone, all alone, all alone, odd man out, all alone, and see the joker. _ The frantic shuffling ceased and the one child without a partner was encircled solemnly.

_Pick a partner, and you're gone, and you're gone, and you're gone, pick your partner and you're gone, never to return._  The encircled child pointed to another, who groaned loudly.  They were both out of the game.  Complicated alliances often formed and shifted, depending, of course, on who was paired with whom. Once the two out left the circle, Frodo and the children lined up again for another round, still an odd number.  Until the very end, when the last odd man would be the winner. 

I had some needlework with me that night and so after supper, I rather ostentatiously went to sit in the small parlor to work on it.  Celandine stuck her head in and then came and sat with me for a while.  Celandine was twenty-six and so tended to be focused on her own concerns, of which her marriage was the chief.  She hugged me, exclaimed over my work, and then spent half-an-hour chattering breathlessly about her latest love.  I gathered it was one of the younger Tooks.  I let her words wash over me while I stitched, and it was a comfort. I'd missed her in my grieving and hadn't even known it. I'd never had any sisters and since my mother's death, the women of Brandy Hall had taken the place of my own family.  Contentious they might be one moment, loving the next, and certainly never boring. 

She leaned her head on my shoulder and finally paused to ask, "So do you like Mr. Baggins, Tansy?"  

"Yes, he's very nice."  

"Will you marry him?"  I was rather stuck for an answer to that.  If I were truthful, then I'd have to say yes, but that would truly light a firestorm of gossip. 

"I've spent some time with him, but it's still early to be thinking about marriage, Celandine," I finally said.   Thankfully, at that moment her mother Hilda came looking for her.  After they went off, I went back to my needlework.  As I finished a complicated border, I ran the needle into my finger with some force.  

"Ouchie," I exclaimed.  I stared at the little drop of blood thoughtfully.  In the month before he died, Toby had become fascinated by "ouchies" and "boo-boos" and the sympathy they evoked.  He'd often claimed to have some imaginary injury, demanding kisses to make it better, and sometimes even bandages and 'medicine'.  I'd used blackberry jam as my medicine, giving him a spoonful when he claimed some illness.  Dahlia had thought it ridiculous, but I was glad now I'd done it.  I folded up my needlework.  My hands were shaking too badly now for me to stitch anything.

_Did it give you joy, baby?_  I thought sadly.  _I'd have let you eat nothing but desserts for the whole month if I'd known. _ I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure, as I walked distractedly back to my own rooms. _I'd have filled up the washtub and let you splash in it until the whole room was flooded.  If only I'd known…  _Why didn't I do that?  Why had I said it was too messy, and too much trouble?  

I stepped into my front room and sat down in my rocker, lost in thought.  Why hadn't I loved him more when I'd had the chance?  How many days had it been since I'd visited his grave?  I felt an urge to go immediately, as if by promptness now, I could make up for the previous neglect.  I picked up my handkerchief to wipe my eyes.  I jumped when I heard a tap at my door.  

Frodo looked in.  "Tansy?" he asked.  "I was in the library and I couldn't remember if I was supposed to meet you—" he broke off.  "What's wrong?" he asked gently, closing the door behind him and coming to kneel by me.  

"I can't remember his smell.  Toby's, I mean.  That baby smell.  I remember how it made me feel, but I can't call it back into my head…" I trailed off, hearing myself babbling disjointedly.  He looked at me compassionately. He didn't look as if he were thinking I was a fool for raking up sorrows best left alone.   He took my hands gently in his.   "What kind of mother forgets that sort of thing?" I finally said shakily, ashamed but relieved to have it out.  

"A normal mother. It's part of the healing, Tansy," he said

"I don't want to forget," I said, half-angrily.  

"You won't forget the feelings," he responded.  "You won't ever forget them."

I put a hand over my eyes, struggling not to break down entirely.  "It hurts so.." I whispered.  He put his arms around me and I hid my face in his shirt. I felt as if I were taking advantage of him by subjecting him to my grief like this.

"When will the sorrow ease?  When does it go away?"  I nearly begged him.  He'd lost loved ones; he must know the answer. 

He hesitated, stroking my head comfortingly. "It doesn't ever go away, Tansy…" he said at last, his voice low, almost meditative.  "But one becomes reconciled to grief, and learns to live with it.  It's like an old friend, a bittersweet reminder of that which is lost.  The sorrow makes those fleeting moments of joy sharper, more piercing.  For you know all too well the whims of fate and chance that can take them away." 

I sat with him silently for a time, considering what he'd said.  It felt right, and strangely enough, comforting.  I toyed with the buttons of his shirt.  I could feel the cool lump of the white jewel.  "How do you do it?" I asked him wonderingly.  

He started as if waking from a dream.  "Do what?" 

"So perfectly encapsulate… grief… in words.  It is harsh, but it is the truth.  And I feel better for hearing it.  I never liked being told everything would be fine.  Because sometimes it will not, and one must face it."

Frowning a little, he looked thoughtfully into my eyes, as if reading something there.  "No, sometimes it will not," he agreed.  Then he looked away and picked up my hand again, toying with my fingers.  I leaned against him and we sat companionably enough.  The tight knot of tension eased, and peacefulness crept over me. 

"You loved Toby a great deal," he said quietly.  

"Yes." I turned my head almost involuntarily to look at the chest where I still had his favorite yellow shirt tucked away.  

"I don't know that I have the strength to love like that," he said hesitantly.  He glanced at me and quickly away.  I took his point at once.  

"Yes, I can see that in you.  It's not surprising."

"You do?" 

"Yes," I said thoughtfully.  "And I'm not a tweeny looking for a husband."  

He brought his hands over mine, and folded them together palm to palm. "I never imagined you were.  It is I who should not--"

"I'm of age, remember? Don't let's argue any longer," I interjected.  I yawned, feeling my eyes beginning to prickle with fatigue. 

 "This is _not _an argument, but I'll leave it for your peace of mind."  He sounded faintly put out and I grinned to myself.  

After a short silence, he said,  "I suppose I should go to bed and let you get some rest."  He glanced at me and I saw subtle signs on his face that revealed his reluctance to go. 

I felt a surge of tenderness and wanting.  As tired as I was, and as heart-broken as I remained, I wanted to hold him close and find comfort in his arms. And forget.  For a time, forget my sorrows and his in the pleasure we could bring to each other.  

I touched his sleeve, and said, "Yes, that sounds best.  Thank you, Frodo."  

His face fell a little, but he kissed me and rose.   "Good night, Tansy."  He opened the door and stepped out, head down, studying the flagstones.  I got up quietly and followed close on his heels.  He saw me as he turned to close the door.  He frowned, his forehead wrinkling.   "Where are you going?" he asked.

 "I'm going to bed, of course," I answered.   

He stared at me for a moment, surprise and tenderness mixed on his face.  Then he closed the door firmly.  "Oh, of course," he echoed.  

Hand in hand, avoiding others, we crept back to his suite.  Once safely inside, I threw my arms around him and kissed his soft mouth, running my tongue along the little gap in his front teeth.    

"Love me," I said simply.  He led me into the bedroom and we undressed each other, kissing all the while. We sat down on the hearthrug, with him running his hands and mouth along my body until my breath came in little gasps.  Finally, I could bear no more of that sweet torment and pulled his face back up to mine.  

 "Frodo…" He picked me up and carried me over to the bed, and we fell sideways across it, not even bothering to get under the covers.  I reached down to feel him and his body stiffened over mine.  He set his teeth together, then we were moving together frantically, moaning.  His possession of me raised such a heat I felt as if I were afire with it, out of my head.  I clutched his back, and his hands pulled at the bedclothes until I heard a rip.   Glimmerings of silver were flashing before my eyes and Frodo's hands clenched tightly on my shoulders.  He cried out above me, and then we were both gone, our individual selves lost in the pleasure.   

He collapsed limply atop me, his breath easing out in a long sigh.  I caressed his body longingly as my own gasps slowed.  _I love him, I love him_, I thought desperately, tears welling in my eyes.  It was an actual physical pain, deep inside me.  My emotions were suddenly too close and too intense to deny.  I felt him turn his head, and he rubbed my cheeks with his hand.  

"Please don't cry," he said softly.  "Have I hurt you somehow?"  

I laughed shakily.  "Not at all.  I'm overwhelmed, not upset or hurt.  It's not necessarily a bad thing, Frodo.   "   

He pulled the quilt up over us and I curled into the curve of his body.   I was  drowsing languorously, nearly asleep, when I heard him say,  "Will you stay with me tonight?"  

"Yes, of course," I mumbled.  

I felt tension singing through his muscles, across his shoulders and down his arms.  He finally said something very quietly, still idly caressing my cheek with a thumb.  

I half-opened my eyes, frowning.  _Surely that's not what I heard…_

"What did you say, Frodo?" I asked.

"Every night?" he repeated in almost a whisper. 

My eyes flew open wide, as my heart started pounding.  I stared blankly ahead at the smooth expanse of wall, and the pleasant dark-stained wood of the door.  _I love him._

"Do you mean…" I was too afraid to complete the sentence.  I'd hallucinated it or perhaps this was a dream.

"Shall we wed, Tansy?" he asked finally.  "Would you have me?"

I tightened my hands around his, my mind a-whirl. _Does he love me? _This was not wholly unexpected, but I hadn't dreamed he'd raise the question so soon.  _I don't know what to say_.   _Could he love me? _ _ I don't care; I love him enough for both of us. _ "Yes," I finally whispered. 

He released a long breath, and hugged me tightly.  "Good.  I'll need to talk to Merry, not that I think he'll object.  Do you want to choose the date?"    _I will not ask him if he loves me.  I will not_.  My thoughts were going in circles.  _We could heal each other_.   I pictured a life with him, children, quiet days filled with small joys.  I could feel his tension increasing at my silence.   

"Tansy?"

"Yes, I'm listening," I said slowly.  "Before we pick a date, I think I'd like to talk with Dahlia and Opal.  See what they think is proper."

He relaxed.  "Oh, of course.  I didn't think.  I'll leave it up to you, then. "  He brought my hand to his lips. "Thank you." 

I lay there with the warmth of his body against my back.   With a shiver, I realized suddenly that even now, with the heat from our lovemaking hot in our skin, I still could sense a faint chill in his left shoulder. _We can heal each other_, I thought firmly.  The round hardness of the Queen's jewel pressed into my neck.  I shifted thoughtfully to ease it, listening to the night sounds from the open window.   Frodo's breathing had slowed to an easy pace, and small twitches ran up and down his arms as he relaxed into sleep, and soon I followed.


	11. Of A New Care

**Of A New Care **

At one point in the night, I heard the wind picking up.  I half-roused, cuddled in Frodo's warm bed, to listen to the creaking of the tree outside Frodo's window.  The creaks were regular, almost like words.  The wind gusted, and the tone turned fretful, complaining like an old hobbit at the chill in the air.  

_The trees are complaining, whispering amongst themselves and the words hang just beyond my comprehension.  I am standing in the Old Wood and the trees are about me.  It's nighttime, there is a brisk wind and the air is full of old sorrows.  _

_"That day they slaughtered us and made a fire of our bones," whispers an oak._

_I am standing in the Bonfire Glade.  "Hemmed.  Hedged.  Cut.  So they dared," snaps a nearby maple.  The branches lash and switch in anger and loss.  I realize dimly that I should be afraid, but I am not.  Instead I feel an overwhelming grief, and tears seep from my eyes.  I lay one hand on the bark of the nearest tree, a lovely beech._

_"I wish you could be happy."_

_The beech tree rustles, swaying against the wind. "Our singers are gone.   They've moved on, moved away, and no longer sing our branches straight and green, or our roots deep."  _

_A tangle of forsythia is huddled on the beech's leeward side, a few faded flowers still clinging to the branches.  "Once they sang to us…and we were cared for.  But no more.  No more.  None for either in the end." As the words form in my mind, the forsythia's scrubby branches writhe slowly apart, revealing a dark bundle concealed within.    _

_I catch my breath and crane to see it.  "What is it?" I ask.  There is no reply.  I step through the scrub cautiously, and kneel down by the dark form.  It is enveloped in a grey cloak and hood.  My heart starts pounding.  Surely I've seen this cloak before?  A few bruised yellow blooms are scattered across the material.  I tug back the hood and instantly recognize the face shining in the moonlight.  It is Frodo.  His eyes are closed and his skin cool.  "No… It can't be." _

_"Can't it?"  the trees whisper back.  I ignore this as I loosen his cloak from his neck and touch his face.  _

_"Frodo," I whisper.  "Frodo?"  There is no answering stirring of movement.  My fingers on his cheek make little dimples, as if pushing into soft clay.  I bring my face down to his, willing that I would feel a breath, some movement of air from his lips.  But there is none.  "Frodo." I rest my cheek against his, despairing.  _

_There's a sudden rush of rustling and creaking, and I look around, tears wet on my cheeks.  It sounds as if the trees are laughing. "Stop it!" I cry to them.   I grab his shoulders and begin to shake him, and his head rolls sickeningly from side to side, limp and lifeless.  "Frodo!" I cry.  "No, no…"_

_"No, no, no…"_  I awoke with a gasp, shaking from an overarching feeling of doom. A dimly seen form was curled next to me, breathing softly and evenly.  _Frodo, thank heaven!_  I turned to him, and felt the icy-cold weight of his jewel slide off my neck. The skin of my neck was tingling where it had lain.  I scooped it up and put it back over his shoulder with a feeling of revulsion.  The frosty surface felt alien under my fingers.  _It was a dream._  Frodo was warm and alive.  It was only a dream. It was early in the morning of Toby's birthday, and it was only a dream.

Frodo stirred under my touch, turning on his back and throwing off the bedclothes.  I felt his forehead anxiously, and his hands.  His forehead was as warm as it should be, and his right hand.  His left hand was cool.  I slowly felt up his left arm to his shoulder, feeling the coolness increase.  His eyes flew open when I touched his wound.  There was a bone-deep chill in the shoulder.  

"What is it?" he almost gasped, grabbing my hand tightly. He winced, his face contracted in pain and confusion.  "What month is it?"

I held still, my hand limp under his.  "It's September, Frodo," I said.  "The year 1420.  What's wrong?"

His hand tightened on mine nearly to the point of pain. He stared blankly up at the ceiling.  "It's early, how can that be?"  he said hoarsely.  

"What's early?" I asked.  "The illness you spoke of?"  I tried to ease my fingers gently out of his grasp, thinking fast.  "You were sleeping uncovered, Frodo. That's why you're chilled.  And you were dreaming.  What were you dreaming of?"

"Trees.." he said slowly.  "Wandering in the Old Forest with Merry and the others and feeling how they hated us."  His eyelids fluttered a little. 

I finally freed my fingers and stroked his forehead.  "Just a dream," I said soothingly.  "An old memory.  It can't harm you now."

"Can't it?" he said slowly. 

I froze, staring at him. "What did you say?"  He was silent, rubbing his shoulder thoughtfully.  

I shook off my paralysis and got up to stir the fire.  I decided if he was cold then some heat couldn't hurt.  The teakettle hanging over the banked coals still contained hot water.  I poured some in a bowl and dipped a thick cotton compress into it.  After I wrung it out, I laid it carefully on his shoulder, covering the small cold scar.   He hissed a little when the heated cloth touched his skin.

"Is it too hot?" I asked anxiously.

He shook his head, eyes closed.  I knelt down by the bed and watched him as the compress cooled.  Even in repose, there was a beauty and a light in him that animated his features.  When I removed it, it seemed to me that his shoulder was a little warmer.  I replaced it with another, and his shoulder was definitely warmer after the second application. His face had relaxed somewhat, too.  I changed out the compresses five more times before his shoulder was warm enough to suit me.  As the chill faded, he drifted quietly back to sleep, no longer turning and muttering.   

_Will he know me when he awakens?_ I thought sadly.  I tucked the bedclothes about him and paced restlessly into the front sitting room.  _What if I hadn't been here?_  Would it have passed, leaving him with one of his vague complaints about "not sleeping well"?  The fear and disquiet I'd been keeping at bay rushed over me. 

_The dream…_

It hadn't faded as most dreams do.  Instead, it had seemed to sharpen in the time since I'd awoken.  I found myself turning it over in my mind, and noticing new details in it each turning.  Anxiousness, I told myself firmly.  Grief, I told myself again and again. Yet I could not quite convince myself the dream was the product of those familiar demons. 

_His face…_

I sank down on the divan before the cold fireplace and hid my face in my hands.  The face in the dream was not the face I'd watched just now in sleep. As much as I wanted to refuse it, I knew I'd seen Frodo dead.  _ I've had enough of death, _I thought in anguish.  _Haven't I?_

_My Tory gone, and my own baby, my Toby, gone.  In my arms as I held him, the hardest thing a woman should ever have to bear.  Not Frodo as well.  I can't do it, I can't…_

I heard Frodo stirring and soon enough, he emerged from the bedroom, freshly washed up.  He came over to me with a dressing gown and started to drape it about my shoulders.  I grabbed his hands, rubbing them between my own.  They were both warm. I reached up to his shoulder, sliding my hand inside his night shirt to touch his shoulder.  It was warm, as well.  Frodo looked startled. "What is it?" 

_Doesn't he remember?  _I took a deep breath.  "Nothing," I said, knowing I was circumventing the truth a bit. _I don't want to upset him._  "It seems chilly in here to me."

He wrapped the dressing gown about me.  "You are cold because you are sitting by a cold fire."  He picked up the poker and rekindled the fire briskly.  

When the flames were leaping high again, I patted the divan next to me.  He sat down and I cuddled close to him, draping the gown over us both.  I lay my head on his chest, and touched his warm solidity; so different from the cool slackness I'd felt under my fingers in the dream.  

_I'd helped Dahlia lay out Tory, stunned and disbelieving.  It was a widow's duty.  We'd washed him again, and combed his hair.  I'd picked up his arm to move it, and it had been so heavy and awkward.  At one point, we had lifted him into a sitting position so that Dahlia could unfasten his nightshirt.  I'd stood there embracing his cool body, and suddenly felt him sliding out of my arms.  I'd tightened my arms around his chest, but his head tipped back and pulled me off-balance.  He'd slid out of the circle of my arms and I had barely managed to guide his tumble onto the bed and not onto the floor.  I'd crumpled next to him on the bed, nursing my strained back and sobbing.  It had replayed itself in my mind endlessly at first.  Tory beginning to slip, my struggle to hold him, and the sudden knowledge that he could no longer help me.  That what I held was clay only, that would slide away from me or onto the floor, all uncaring.  _

Tears were in my eyes.  _It was a dream._  I blinked them away fiercely.  _I won't heed some foul dream._  I could care for Frodo.  I would care for him and love him and that need never come to pass. 

"Do you want to eat?" he asked gently.

"Eat?" I answered vaguely.  "I don't believe so."  __

He picked up my hand.  "I know what day it is.  Toby's birthday."

"Yes," I said slowly.  "He would have been four today."  He squeezed my hand and I took a deep breath.  "I need to dress.  I'm going to walk over to the cemetery for a bit."

"Shall I come with you?"

"No, thank you, Frodo.  I'll be back in a little while."  I washed up and dressed.  When I came back out, Frodo was starting on his second cup of tea, and leafing through the Red Book thoughtfully.  "Going to write for a while, my sweet?" I asked.  

He nodded.  "Yes, I thought I'd finish the Old Forest today.  By your leave, of course."

"Oh."  I suddenly felt a great weight of worry roll off my chest.  "You've been working on the Old Forest section?  That's obviously why you were dreaming of it, then."  

He picked up a quill and then put it back down again and looked at me curiously.  I abruptly realized I'd slipped.   I started backing for the door.  "I'll be back at lunchtime, Frodo—"  I said hastily.  

"Dreaming when?" he asked, his eyebrows drawn together.

I hesitated, my hand on the knob.  "When?" he repeated.  "I don't remember any dreams of the Old Forest, Tansy."

I sighed, feeling my shoulders droop.  "Last night," I admitted.  "I don't want you to be concerned, though.  You seemed restless, and I heard you mumble something about trees.  I didn't understand, but if you've been working on that section, then it makes perfect sense."  I waited, my palms sweating.  _I won't be dishonest with him, but… Please let it be, Frodo.    Let's just let it be._

He considered my words for a long minute, still frowning slightly.  "I don't remember such a dream," he finally said, sounding tentative.  

"I don't think you were fully awake.   Just talking in your sleep, mostly," I said carefully.  He clasped his hands together, rubbing the left with the right.  I watched him as he rubbed his right hand quickly up to his left shoulder and down again, with an obvious shiver as if he only felt a draft or some such.  _You're checking, aren't you, my love?_ I thought sadly.  _You're checking that old wound to see if it's acting up again.  And you don't want me to know it. _

He relaxed a little, and gave me a small smile.  "I guess that does happen, doesn't it?" he replied.  "I suppose I should be relieved that I only spoke of trees when you were present."  The smile broadened as relief and mischief sparkled in his eyes. 

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," I said, wrinkling my nose at him.  As I opened the door, he was picking up his pen again. 

I walked to the cemetery, deep in thought.  I knelt down next to Tory's grave, staring at the stone as if Tory himself would appear to answer my concerns and quiet my fears.     

_Beyond the circles of the world…_

It was so easy to look back on my time with Tory and Toby and say that it had all been worth it, that the pain paled in comparison to the joy I'd received.  If the pain lies before you still, is it so easy a choice to make?  Could I walk into the dream, eyes open, and still savor the joy to be had?   

I made a small exasperated noise.  Tory would be annoyed if he were here.  Don't look for rain clouds in a clear sky, my love, he'd say.  Here I was acting as if an occasional illness meant something more. And I was avoiding the true question.  Did I honestly see myself ever letting him go?  Now that I'd found him, I intended to hold him as long as I could.  


	12. That Mingle in the Silent Sky

**That Mingle in the Silent Sky**

For the next fortnight, Merry was busy entertaining Estella, and we didn't see much of him.  The last night of her visit, Saradoc announced their formal betrothal at a celebratory feast.  As Saradoc talked, I stared at the table, wishing it were mine being announced.  That it could be mine.  Frodo was at the next table.  When supper was over, and everyone jumped up to crowd around Merry and Estella and offer congratulations, he came and sat next to me.  "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.  

"Nothing," I said quickly.  He looked frankly disbelieving. "All right, I'm thinking about betrothals.  I wish ours were settled."

His face was impassive. "I see.  Isn't it, then?" I looked at him, trying vainly to read what he was thinking.  Relief? Anxiety?  _What did he want?_

His eyes flicked over my shoulder, and I turned to see Mentha approaching us.  "Big night for Merry, Tansy," she said slyly.  "Did you see his face when Saradoc said it? I thought he turned a very pretty shade of green."  We stood up as the servants came around to push the tables back for dancing.   

"Aren't you happily married, then, Mentha?" I teased back.  Saradoc gestured for the music to start.  Apparently, no one was in a speech-making mood tonight.  I glanced over at Frodo and mouthed, _Speech?_  He shook his head, smiling, and handed me my wine glass. 

"I am married, so I know what I'm talking about," Mentha said.  "Women don't need nearly as much convincing as men, in my experience."  She glanced back and forth between us, still smiling mischievously.   "Still, _nearly_ _all_ the Travelers are either betrothed or married now. Those with proper hobbit-sense, anyway."   

Frodo had just taken a sip of his wine and he coughed violently. I looked at Mentha, startled.  _What has gotten into her?_  

Frodo looked annoyed once he'd gotten his breath back.  "I'm going to congratulate Merry," he said shortly.

After he'd stalked off, Mentha looked at me with mock-dismay.  "O-ho, so Mr. Baggins is a little sensitive on the subject of marriage!"

I had to count to three to keep from snapping at her.  "I certainly cannot speak for Mr. Baggins, Mentha," I said coldly. 

She sat down, looking genuinely surprised.  "You seem as if you're-" she broke off and blushed.  "I'm sorry.  It's really none of my business, is it?  Merry said so, and here I go chattering anyway."

I was turning to look after Frodo, when her words penetrated.  "What?" I said sharply.  

She looked alarmed at my tone.  "Tansy, I only said that you and Frodo seemed to be in each other's company quite a bit, perhaps a courtship was on the horizon?  Merry told me to be quiet." She hesitated, and then added,  "And not to gossip about it, for Frodo would never do anything to hurt your reputation. I only meant to joke a little."

"Oh, yes," I agreed dully.  Of course, Frodo would never intentionally ruin a woman by seducing her and then not marrying her.  And he would certainly never abandon a woman in love with him, of Merry's own family.   I'd known all that before, but it made it seem more real when others spoke of it.  _Does he truly want to marry me?_  _Or am I yet another duty he must fulfill?_

I pushed the thought away and said goodbye to Mentha.  As I walked over to where Frodo and Merry were standing, I heard Merry say,  "I won't deny occasional panicky moments, but I'm happier than I thought possible 18 months ago."  Frodo nodded, smiling wistfully.  Merry continued softly, "Health and long life, Frodo!  Let's drink to it and spit in Saruman's eye!" He touched his glass of wine to Frodo's.  A flicker of sadness passed over Frodo's face and then he drank.  

"Saruman?" I asked curiously.  "What do you mean by that, Merry?"  

Frodo's shoulders tensed a little.  "Nothing important," he said.  I didn't miss the quick look he shot at Merry, who immediately shut his mouth.  

I looked at them both skeptically.  _What?_ I thought.  Merry looked blankly innocent.  Frodo just looked stubborn.  I sighed.  

"Estella, dear, come and speak to Frodo," Merry called then. Estella walked over smiling.  She was a lovely hobbit, with extraordinarily fair hair, and could have married anyone she'd chosen.  But she had been absolutely devoted to Merry since childhood, tagging after him everywhere.  Once she grew into her beauty, she'd captured his attention easily.  "Hello, Frodo, Tansy," she said.  "You both look well."

Frodo kissed her cheek.  "All happiness to you, Estella," he said pleasantly.  "And how is Fatty?"

She laughed.  "He's doing his best to be worthy of the name once more.  Father swears he'll eat him out of house and home."  I fidgeted impatiently, thinking to myself, _Is he keeping_ _secrets from me?_  I looked around the Hall.  It was difficult to see since the chandeliers had been extinguished.  _Who else was about during the battles?  _Most of the children and younger hobbits were on the floor dancing a vigorous reel.  I finally caught sight of Mentha's brother, Merimas sitting against one wall.   _Merim would know._  I excused myself with a final hug to Estella, and went over to him.  

"Hullo, Merim," I said, sitting down next to him.  

 "Tansy, how are you?  I haven't seen you about for ages."

"I'm well, thank you.  But I have a question for you.  I've just realized that I can't remember something about Sharkey."

 "Why would you want to?" he said, frowning.

"No particular reason, but Merry said something just now and I didn't want to ask what he meant.  Or appear provincial.  But you were there, Merim, you can remind me," I smiled at him engagingly and he rolled his eyes. 

 "What is it you want to know?"

"What does a toast to health and long life have to do with Merry and Frodo getting the better of Saruman?  Sharkey, I mean."

He hesitated a long moment, looking troubled.  "I'm not sure…but it could be a reference to what he said to Frodo."

A cold chill rushed down my neck.  "Saruman?  What did he say to Frodo?"  He hesitated again.  "Merim?  Please?"

He threw up his hands.  "He was just being mean and spiteful.  At the end, when Frodo had told him to go, and hoped he'd yet find a remedy.  He said something like,  'I'll not wish you health or long life, for you will have neither.  But that is not my fault. I only foretell.' "

_Curse him!_ Arwen, Galadriel, and now Saruman…all these great ones seemed determined that Frodo should have no peace. I stared out over the Hall in dismay and anger.  I eventually became aware of Frodo watching me, from where he stood by Merry.  He caught my eye, frowning, and shifted his gaze to Merim.   I felt Merim twitch like a spooked pony beside me.  He jumped to his feet and blurted out, "I promised Meli I'd talk with her friend, Tansy, if you'll excuse me," and fair rushed away.   

Frodo walked over deliberately and stood before me with his hands in his pockets. "You wheedled it out of Merim," he said, with obvious irritation

I stared at him, my mind a-whirl.  The nightmares and illnesses, the chill in his shoulder, the times I'd catch him suppressing some grimace when he moved, the appetite that didn't improve no matter how I tempted him to eat…    _Health and long life._  Surely it wasn't too much to ask for him.  Not when he'd already given so much.  

"Why didn't you tell me?" I replied with some heat.  The reel finished in a jangle of notes and Saradoc began shooing the children off the dance floor.

 "Saruman's spite does not bear repeating.  I insist you put it from your mind immediately."  A fine one he was, telling me to put things from my mind!  

"Don't order me about, Frodo Baggins," I replied angrily. 

He opened his mouth, and then checked himself.  "This is not the time or place," he said evenly.  

I jumped to my feet.  "Then we can go someplace else."

He wheeled away from me, arms folded, and bumped into Saradoc.

"Frodo," Saradoc said heartily.  "You must dance!  I've not seen you on the floor yet."

"Perhaps later, Uncle."

"I insist, my boy.  I'll brook no argument."  Saradoc looked at me shrewdly and took my hand and pressed it into Frodo's.  "Dance with Tansy.  Out you go, now go on."  

Saradoc moved on and gave Merry and Estella a similar push onto the floor.  Frodo and I looked at each other as the musicians started.  Merry and Estella joined hands and walked into the center of the room.  Quite a few other couples followed, forming a line.  The Farthingall was slower than most hobbit dances.  It was usually a good dance in which to catch your breath and flirt a little. He finally led me over to the line.  The musicians crashed into the reverence and I curtsied very formally as Frodo bowed.  He took my hand and we stepped forward to the measured beats of the music, falling into line with the other couples.  

"Why didn't you tell me what Saruman said?" I asked him softly.

He shook his head and didn't reply.  I was quiet until we reached the end of the advancing steps.  We faced each other for the turn, and clasped hands formally.  He was looking straight ahead, avoiding my eyes, which was unusual during the Farthingall turn.  _Clasp elbows for familiar and hands for formal,_ Mother had told me when teaching me to dance long ago.  _Tilt your head to meet your partner's eyes.  Thrice turn as if you are circling a sixpence piece on the floor._  She and Father had demonstrated and she had gotten rather giggly.  Sancho and I had rolled our eyes at each other_.  It's just some silly dance!  _We'd learned it reluctantly, unable to see why people would care about it so.   

I gave Frodo's hand a tug and he looked at me at last.  "Does it have anything to do with what Queen Arwen said?" 

He looked resigned.  "Possibly.  We can discuss it later."  

We stopped and raised our hands together at shoulder level, palm to palm.  _Partners may try to steal a kiss at this point, _Mother had said, looking at Father and laughing.  Father had pretended to get angry, retorting:  _I never want to_ _see you two acting in such a way!_  In the last stanza, the couples would form two circles: the inner couples reversing and the outer moving forward.  

I hadn't been paying attention, and started to step forward.  Frodo's fingers curved around mine, and his lips quirked.  "We're falling back," he whispered.  I blushed, almost stumbling as I corrected.  His steps never faltered, continuing light and sure.  I mirrored him, looking over his shoulder as we circled.  One couple was perilously close together. They moved out of my line of vision before I could identify them.  I turned my attention back to my partner.  Through our joined hands, I could sense the easy rhythms in his movements.  His backwards and sideways steps were light and sure, with the deceptive ease conveyed by those well rehearsed.  

"You're an excellent dancer," I said, watching him. 

"You sound surprised."

"You never danced much at festivals, I remember."

He shrugged vaguely.  "In Hobbiton, I was usually the host and so had other duties."

We had returned to our original position, completing our backward circuit. Usually the dance repeated several times.  We both looked ahead to Merry and Estella, but they showed no sign of leading us to change partners.  

Frodo took my hand and we went forward again side by side.  I stole a peek at him from the corner of my eye.  He'd left his fine damask weskit unbuttoned in the warmth of the Hall, and had his sleeves pushed up over his forearms.   His posture was quite proper, with head up and shoulders back.  I considered that if I were to run my hand down from the nape of his neck to the small of his back, I would be able to feel the tension in his muscles, the tension that kept him upright and balanced so perfectly.  

We turned towards each other and clasped hands.  As we circled around the imaginary sixpence piece, I could smell the lavender scent of the soap he'd washed up with before coming to the supper.  It was odd how alone we seemed, with the music filling our ears, and the rest of the Hall seeming to fade into the dim candlelight. And then the turns were complete.  

As we began advancing palm-to-palm, with each step, his knee slightly disarranged my skirts and touched mine.  I felt increasing warmth from those small points of contact; our palms, our knees.  I bit my lip, and looked down, trying to concentrate on the music.  _Step, pause, step, pause, double-step, pause…_

His formal breeches were cut looser than those for everyday.  I could see where the material flowed over his hips and upper thighs before falling smoothly to his knees.  I wondered what the fabric felt like.  It looked like it had a soft nap.  _He's not built typically_, I thought a little dizzily.  _Those are tailored somewhat big.  If I had a chance, I could alter them. _ At his hips, take hold of the material and pull it a bit tighter and mark where the new seam should be.  Work my way down to mid-thigh or so, and then run the width straight to the knee.  

"Don't bite your lip," he said softly.  I swallowed hard and pulled my gaze back up to his face.   The heat in the Hall was stifling.  I stared at his lips from a distance of six inches, close enough that I could see every tiny curve and change in texture.  If I moved forward a few inches, I could touch his lips with my own.  I raised my eyes to his, to find him looking at me intently.  _Just a small movement._  My pulse was speeding in my throat.  He dropped his eyes to my lips and leaned toward me, slowly, almost unnoticeably.  A flourish in the music washed over us and I became dimly aware of a change in the other couples' movements.  Frodo halted, and released my hands reluctantly.  

We were back to our original position and it was again time to advance side by side.  _Blast_, I thought in frustration.  Now I was suddenly eager for the dance to be over and to make my polite farewells.   As we walked forward, he laced his fingers through mine, rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand. His hand was very warm.   He glanced sideways at me, his eyes catching a glimmer of torchlight from the wall sconces.   I stared back, caught in their intense blue.

At the turn, I put out my hand for him to take.  He stepped closer, and took my elbow.   I could feel the cool material of his shirt under my palm.  He'd loosened his cuffs earlier in the evening and pushed them back to his forearms.  I slid my hand along the inside of his arm and inside his sleeve.  It felt as if most of the nerves in my body were concentrated in that hand, and luxuriating in the feel of his skin under my fingers.   We finished the turns too quickly for my taste and faced each other again.

He stepped toward me deliberately, somewhat off-center, and slowly raised our hands to shoulder level.  I shamelessly moved closer still, and we began falling back. I heard a rushing in my ears, as if I truly were falling from a height.  With each step, I could feel his knee rising between mine and rubbing along my thigh. I was intensely aware of every slow movement, each lingering contact between us, and the tingling of arousal.  I stared into his eyes, wondering what he felt.  His face was completely impassive, but his eyes were not.  He looked at me as if I lay before him, ready, and my knees weakened embarrassingly.  I took a deep breath and looked outward, clutching his hands like a lifeline.  

"You're doing this on purpose," I accused, feeling my breath catch.

"I'm not."   His barely-felt whisper raised goose bumps all along my neck and down my arms.  

I turned my head to him, and found somehow that my cheek brushed his, and all I could see was his hair and the flared collar of his shirt.

The music began to increase in volume, signaling the final measures.   I needed only to turn my head slightly to touch my lips to his jaw.  I kissed the curve of his neck, and his taste and smell went to my head like wine.  His hands tightened on mine, and he brought one to his lips, as if in a gallant flourish.  I tensed when I felt his mouth against the inside of my wrist.  He kissed me once and then began slowly rubbing his lips up and down there, along the so-sensitive skin.  I closed my eyes, trusting him to keep us moving in the right direction.  I yearned to press myself to him and kiss down his throat to his chest and stomach, unbuttoning as I went.  I began concentrating on keeping my breathing slow and easy, increasingly aware of his body where it touched mine at the wrist, hands, and thighs.  Then I felt his lips moving against my skin when he whispered, "The music is about to stop."  He stepped back slightly to a more decorous distance.  I opened my eyes and looked at him.

_The music is about to stop…_    I tried to make sense of the words.  We had once again returned approximately to our starting position, and dropped our hands to our sides. Perhaps to the others in the Hall, he seemed normal, his face wearing its customary non-committal expression, but I saw more.  His eyes were very bright, and his breathing had quickened.  I gave myself a mental shake as the musicians began the closing reverence, and I curtsied low, sweeping the floor with my skirts as I dipped.  He bowed graciously in return, and then took my arm.   

He led me over to the side of the dance floor where Mentha was sitting.  He squeezed my hand, and then said formal goodnights to us both.  Then he looked across the Hall to where Merry stood with Estella and raised one hand in a brief farewell.  Without another word, he walked away. He stopped at the doorway and looked back at me. When our eyes met, I started to rise from my seat to go to him.    

Mentha grabbed my arm.  "Don't, Tansy," she hissed.  I subsided, looking over at her.  She looked sympathetic.  "Don't go rushing out after him," she advised.  

I looked back toward the door.  He'd gone and I wanted to go after him.  Immediately.  "You are mistaken, I merely thought it time to retire," I said loftily.  

She ignored this.  "My goodness, woman, you're a Brandybuck! By marriage, anyway," she amended hastily.  "And Brandybucks do not pursue…they are the pursued," she finished with a smug smile.

I sank back on the bench in annoyance.  "Does it matter?  I am a widow, not a maiden."  _I need to see him..to talk to him…and other things. _

She laughed at me, and I flushed, conscious of taking my bad temper out on her. She patted my arm kindly.  "Don't fret, Tansy, it creases your brow unpleasantly."  She continued, "Now, we two ladies will leave shortly, and I'll walk with you back to your rooms."

I had no mind to return to my rooms.  I smiled pleasantly as I tried to dissuade her.  "Of course, dear, I would enjoy your company.  But I so hate for you to miss the festivities.  Stay if you've a mind." 

She looked sly.  "Certainly not."  She tucked her arm through mine, and together we rose and began making our goodbyes to the others.  

As we walked, we chatted lightly of inconsequential matters.  The corridors were empty of all save an occasional servant, as the other residents of Brandy Hall celebrated the heir's betrothal.  Mentha halted at the intersection of two corridors.  

"I believe I will return to the Hall now.  You can walk on from here, can't you?" she said cheerfully.   

I looked around, realizing immediately that Frodo's room was down the opposite corridor.  "Oh, yes!" I said equably.  I took a step and paused, looking at her innocently.  

Her lips twitched, and she said, "Very well, I'll pass on your regrets. Goodnight."  She turned and strode away briskly.  After she turned a corner, I made hastily for the opposite hall. 

When I reached Frodo's door, I had just lifted my hand to knock as it was jerked open.  Frodo and I stared at each other for a second, then he grabbed my arm and pulled me in. He closed the door and leaned forward to kiss me.  

I slipped out of reach and looked at him uncertainly.   "Frodo, wait.  First I would speak of what I what I learned tonight."

"Why?"  He looked surprised and a little taken aback. 

"Because it affects us, you and I." 

"Tansy, there is little to discuss.  I cannot see the future like the Wise.  I do not know if what Saruman said is true. "  As he spoke, he walked into the bedroom and dropped onto the bed as if suddenly weary.

"And what Queen Arwen spoke of?"

"Of sailing West?  I've already said I've no wish to leave the Shire. More than that I cannot say."

"Cannot or will not?"

He seemed to look into the distance.  "Cannot.  I'm afraid my future is as unfathomable as your own."

"When would you have sailed?" He hesitated again, and I frowned, walking over to stand before him.  

"As far as I know, the Elven Ring-bearers have not yet left Middle Earth," he said reluctantly.  

 "I see."   _Could he still leave, then?_ I sat down abruptly on the bed, feeling sickened at the thought and trying to hide it.   An old memory surfaced:  "They say those most deserving of love and happiness, seldom find it."  

He looked at me intently.  "That cannot always be true, can it?  Otherwise, we'd have never met."  

My answering smile trembled a little but he didn't seem to notice.  _If I could make him happy… I'd spend my life trying and count it well spent._  He curved his hand around the back of my neck, and moved to kiss me.  I turned my head so that his lips touched my cheek instead.  

"Wait," I said, trying to remember if there was anything else.

"Not more discussion?" he murmured against my cheek.

"Frodo, don't try to befuddle me," I said hastily.  "It works all too well.  It's unfair."

"Unfair to whom?" he asked, sliding his hands down my back, "I'm affected as you are."   

I tugged at my neckline a bit.  It suddenly seemed far too snug around my throat.  "No, that's not true.  You- you know how I feel," I murmured distractedly.  "While we were dancing…." I trailed off, my body burning as I remembered.

He raised his head to look at me, his eyes very dark in the meager light from the table-candle.  "Do you think that I react this way intentionally?" he said, sounding frustrated.   "You give yourself too little credit. I never imagined—"  He broke off, looking away. 

"What?" I asked.  "Frodo?"

 "Caring like this. Now. After all that has happened to me."

"Caring?   Is that what you call it?"

He hesitated, searching my eyes with his own.  "No, actually.  I would call it love." 

 I caught my breath. "Yes."  Our eyes met and we moved forward as one.  This time, when he kissed me, I did not move away.  I responded with all my love, bringing him to me, within me.  Until we fell apart, panting, drowsy, and scrambled under the bedclothes.

Frodo slept easily, but I stayed awake, struggling to come to terms with my future.  I'd been so sure it included Frodo.  Was I wrong?  I tossed and turned for a long while before falling asleep.

The next day, I found my steps turning toward Opal's room.  I'd struggled to think this through on my own long enough.  It was time to seek someone else's advice.  

She didn't bat an eyelash when I turned up at her door.  "Hello, my dear," she said easily.  "You've something you wish to discuss, is that it?"

I slumped down in one of her chairs, feeling tired.  "I have a dilemma, Opal.  I may need a good excuse to delay a marriage.  And I am having difficulties thinking of one."

Her eyes narrowed in her wrinkled face.  "An excuse to delay a marriage," she repeated thoughtfully.  "Not to refuse?  Difficult.  Something workable should be based in truth; it makes everything easier.  Do you dislike the man who's asked you?"

I shook my head, staring at the floor.  

"Is there another you want more, then?"  I shook my head again, feeling like a fool.  "Well, what does Merry say?  I'm assuming he knows about this."

"I haven't spoken of it with him."

She laced her fingers together and leaned her chin on them, considering.  "Well, I've not heard that Frodo has any prior commitments, and he seems to care for you."

I looked at her, startled, and she smiled wistfully.  "Dear, at my age the only thing that might surprise one, is how little lovers change.  But I could've sworn you cared for him a great deal, so perhaps I am missing the mark."

"I do care for him," I paused and took a deep breath.  "I suppose this will sound ridiculous to you.  But I worry his past will not let him ever be at peace in the Shire.  He's told me that Queen Arwen said he would need to go into the Uttermost West.  I need some time to sort it out. But he won't talk to me about it, and I'm not sure what to do."

"Into the West?  Like the songs say the Elves do? Why?"  

I shrugged, staring into the fire.  "For healing."

She looked thoughtful.  "And if he doesn't?"

I couldn't look at her.  It was harder than I'd imagined, speaking my fears aloud.  "I don't know…but I'm afraid," I said.  __

I thought I saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes.  "That is a different kettle of fish, then," she said slowly.  "In that case, your problem is not Frodo at all— "

"It's Merry," Dahlia finished firmly from behind me.  I jumped, and saw her standing in the doorway.  I hadn't even heard her come in.  

"That's not at all what I was going to say, 'Lia," Opal said, sounding ruffled.  "And there's no call to be sneaking up on us."

"What do you mean?" I asked them in confusion.  

Dahlia clicked her tongue impatiently.  "You could put off Frodo Baggins from now till the Brandywine freezes again and he'd probably not mind overmuch."

"Well, yes, the boy is dreamy," Opal agreed.  "Always was."

Dahlia ignored this.  "But Merry is completely different.  He may laugh and tease but he takes his responsibilities seriously.  And he won't allow this …relationship to continue without wedding plans."

  I blushed a little, and she looked amused.  "You're discreet, but you'd have to be canny indeed to fool Opal or me.  And there's another thing you've not considered," she continued briskly.  "What will you do if you get with child?"

I felt a surge of mingled terror and joy.   _If it happens, it happens.  It's enough for me to consider what else I may have to do. _ "I'll cross that river if I come to it," I said firmly. ""And as for Merry... I don't know.  Frodo may have already talked to him." 

Opal and Dahlia regarded me for a long moment.  Then Dahlia shrugged and said, "Well, Tansy, you'd best leave Merry to me then."

"What will you say?"

"I'll tell him I don't want him to announce any betrothals until a full year's mourning for Tory has passed.  It's old-fashioned, but then, so am I.  He'll agree reluctantly, but he will agree.  And that will give you a couple of more months.  By then, child, you'll have to make up your mind."

"Exactly, Dahlia," Opal said triumphantly.  "That's what I was about to tell her when you interrupted.  Her true problem is making up her own mind."


	13. An Altered Wind

**An Altered Wind**

_"Missus Tansy? Are you all right?"  The voice is unfamiliar.  Everything is unfamiliar.  _

_I am huddled over, gasping for breath.  I look around.  I'm in a strange room I've never seen before.  Several shuttered round windows.  A large four-poster bed had been shoved against the far wall.  I am sitting on a low birthing stool.  Pain.  Pain rips through my midsection and I clench my teeth on a scream.  Sweat trickles down my face, into my eyes and mouth. I look down and see the rivulets of blood on my legs.  _

_Mustn't scream.  It would worry him.  Mustn't.   The linen of my shift is clinging to me, transparent with sweat. I am vaguely aware that I would normally be embarrassed to be seen like this.  I don't particularly care right now.  _

_The midwife's red face swims into view.  "Push, dearie," she says, her fingers digging into my knee, "Push hard now!"   I remember this sensation.  I take a deep breath, and push on the exhalation.  My muscles knot into a hard band of agony.  _

_A new voice.  "That's good, Missus!"  A woman I don't know, with blonde curls, holds a damp cloth to my forehead.  It feels wonderfully cool.  I stop pushing and struggle for breath.  As soon as I relax my abused muscles, they collapse into trembles, uncontrollable shivers that hurt worse than the pushes do.  _

_"Almost, dearie!" crows the midwife happily.  "A few more like that and you'll have your little lad!"  I take another breath and push again.  And again.  And again.  My head is swimming, and the room fades in and out of focus.  The light-haired woman keeps sponging my face and murmuring encouragement.  A neighbor, perhaps, or a servant?  I can't tell by her dress.  Then, in the middle of a push, it happens.  _

_The pressure and the pains are wiped away, as if by magic.  I release my breath in a long sigh, relaxing my muscles even before I hear the midwife yell.  "Easy, now, for the shoulders… It's a lass, Missus!"  The midwife shoves the baby into my arms, and the woman next to me leans over and wraps her in towels, rubbing briskly and clearing the tiny nose and mouth.  The baby moves her head weakly, and makes a tiny sound, not much more than a kitten's cry.  _

_I've barely caught my breath when the midwife pushes in hard on my stomach and the muscles clench in renewed pain.  The midwife massages my abdomen briskly and I glare down at her.  She is unmoved.  "You'll be able to rest soon, Missus," she says consolingly.  The neighbor-or-servant woman is holding the baby and tying off the bluish cord when the afterbirth comes.  The midwife takes it and the baby for examination. A minute later, I hear a healthy squall of outrage and the door of the bedchamber opens promptly, as if the cry had pulled it on a string.  _

_"Mr. Frodo, we're not ready quite yet!" the neighbor-or-servant-woman calls.   _

_"Best to wait till you're called for, I find," the midwife says tartly.  _

_He ignores them and enters anyway.  "Come now, ladies," he says.  "I was present for the sowing, wasn't I?" _

_The light-haired woman bursts out laughing.  "Mr. Frodo, how you go on!"  She speaks so familiarly that she must be a neighbor.  Frodo comes and crouches by the stool, putting an arm around me.  "Are you all right?" he asks. He stares into my face and takes one of my hands in his.  When he unfolds my fist, he frowns at the fingernail marks.  "You've hurt yourself, my love."  _

_I smile giddily at him.  All I'm aware of is the relief from the pain, and that is so wonderful, I feel like laughing and singing.  "A girl, Frodo!" I say breathlessly.  " A beautiful girl, with dark hair like yours."  He looks over and seems to notice the baby for the first time.  The light-haired woman finishes wiping her and places her, swaddled snugly, into his arms.  The baby has quieted and is trying to look about with her dark blue eyes crossed but intent. He takes a step backward and sits down hard on the bed, looking as genuinely surprised and stunned as I've ever seen him.  He touches the miniature hand tentatively with one finger, and she grasps it, trying to bring it to her mouth.  He looks at me, a wondering smile dawning on his face.  "Primula, then," I say happily, and he nods.  _

_The midwife and the light-haired woman freshen me up, then drape a clean dressing gown about me.  They help me over to the bed and I sink down on it unsteadily.  The midwife and the must-be-neighbor-woman leave the room.  Frodo pulls a quilt over me, and sits next to me on the bed with our baby snuggled across his lap.  "I love you, dearest," he says quietly.  Tears of joy blur my vision.  I need to feed the baby but I am so tired.  I lean my head against his shoulder and sigh.  So tired.  Just a short rest, and then I'll take her.  I am drowsing when I feel a sudden pain, not in my belly, but in my hand.  _

_Something is burning in my hand.  I unclench my fist, and the white jewel is lying there, glaring harshly. I stare at it in confusion—why isn't it around Frodo's neck?  I start up, and look at them.  The baby is still awake and quiet, lying across his knees.  She yawns widely with a small grumbling.  Frodo's head has fallen to one side, and one hand is limp on the quilt.  _

_"Frodo?" I ask.  My heart, why is it pounding so?  He is so still.  "Frodo!" I cry.  _

_The light-haired woman rushes in.  "Tansy, what is it, what's the matter?"  I stare at her for a second, willing her to say everything would be fine, just an odd little turn, he gets those, you know that…  The color drains from her, leaving her skin greenish-sick.  She grabs his chin and tilts his face up to hers.  "Frodo, Mr. Frodo," she says, shaking him. Her next words are nearly a scream.  "Sam!  Sam, come quick!"  Primula is jostled and begins wailing.  _

_And despite all this Frodo still does not move. I hear an anguished male cry from the door.  "No, no, it can't…"  He will never move again. The hubbub in the room seems as far removed from me as the stars.  I stare at his face, buried by the enormity of what I now face.  _

_"Frodo."  The stout hobbit falls to his knees at the bedside, pressing Frodo's hand to his cheek.  "Frodo!"  A long night with no promise of day, ever.  The light haired woman is cradling Primula expertly, tears streaking down her cheeks.   How would I live without him?  No, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't…_

My body convulsed and I half sat up in bed.  I stared wildly around me, at the dim room, the black shadows of the tree boughs, trying to gulp down my sobs.    _Stop, stop, you'll wake him and what would you say?  _Frodo was on his side next to me, with knees bent and one arm tucked under his head.  __

I reached one finger out to his shoulder, afraid of what I would find.  His skin was blazingly warm underneath the smooth linen.  _Thank you, thank you…_  I slid down to my accustomed place and my cheek touched a cool, hard oval.  Queen Arwen's jewel had slipped over one shoulder and was glimmering faintly against the skin of his back. I jerked back and regarded it silently for a moment. I'd never in my life had such odd dreams…not until I started sleeping with Frodo.  And I hated these dreams, I hated the way they made me feel, and the way they seemed to take over my body and mind.  Even now, several minutes after waking, I still felt the terror and the horrible gut-wrenching sadness of my loss.  _Not a loss_, I thought angrily.  _Not truly a loss because Frodo is alive, he's right here next to you, and you will not act like some frightened, witless teeny._  

I stared at the gem, which even in this darkness glittered light on its frosty surface, and I feared it.   Irrational, but I feared it and did not wish to touch it.  "Those are not my dreams," I whispered defiantly.  "Those were not my dreams at all, so why do you force them on me?"   The gem returned nothing but silence.  I shook my head and became abruptly aware of how absurd this would seem to Frodo if he awoke now.  _What are you doing, dear?  _

_Nothing, my love, just giving your gem a firm talking to.  It's been sending me dreams and…_

I forced a shaky laugh and felt my forehead.  It was cool.  _I don't_ feel _sick._   I eased back down to cuddle to Frodo.  But before I got too close, I lifted Arwen's jewel by the chain and eased it carefully back over onto his chest.  _I'm over-wrought.  I'll feel fine tomorrow._  Then I pressed my cheek to his back and listened to him breathing, and his heart beating.  The sounds soothed my jangled nerves and at last, I fell asleep.   

The next morning I was tired and distracted.  I managed to smile and speak pleasantly to Frodo at breakfast and he seemed to suspect nothing.  But the cheerful room with its low ceiling beams oppressed me until I felt as if I were straining to breathe.  The air was close and thick and dusty…like that of a tomb.  The thought sent me leaping to my feet, and muttering an apology to Frodo, I fled into the bedroom.   I splashed water on my face and leaned out the open window until I felt recovered.  _What's wrong with me_? I thought anxiously.  Opal's dry voice answered.  _Maybe you're with child_.  

I turned the thought over.   _I was never broody with Toby_.  

_Every babe is different_, Opal's voice reminded me.  I stared out over the grassy verge.  _Let that be it, then.  Better that, than…_  I shook myself and finished dressing. 

When I re-entered the sitting room, Frodo was perusing his notes at the table.  I hung onto the doorjamb and watched him.  He traced one slender finger carefully along the page, puzzling out its meaning.  His hands moved deftly, with nary a wasted motion.  Competent hands.  I no longer noticed the offending ceiling beams.  His lips moved slightly, and his eyebrows drew together.  His lips were a pale velvety pink.  He shifted forward in his chair as if by getting closer to the offending document he could decipher it.   I was drawn irresistibly into the room until I stood beside his chair.   He slid one arm about my waist absently, and I smoothed his hair back from his brow.  

"I'm going to help with the sewing in the Hall," I told him.  

He frowned down at the page he still held in one hand.  "Sewing?" he questioned.  "For whom?"

"Merry and Estella," I answered.  "The wedding sewing."  

He raised his eyebrows.  "Ah.  I'd hoped you would help me translate Pippin's abominable handwriting."   

Being this close to him scattered my wits.  "Uh-hmmm…" I laughed, a little breathlessly.  "I'll not be gone long.  And perhaps Merry could help."

He flattened his hand along the small of my back.  "Perhaps I'll be ready for a break from writing when you return, then."   

  I bent and brushed his lips with mine, quickly, for I knew if I lingered I'd be lost.  "Farewell, love."

I spent a pleasant pair of hours sewing on the wedding quilt in the great hall, and catching up on gossip.  It seemed that the Banks were feuding with the Maggots again, and the cause seemed to be a burgeoning regard between the Banks' eldest son and the middle Maggot girl.  We broke for elevenses, and I found myself cornered by Mentha, who was complaining angrily that Meli had chosen the exact same shade of dress-fabric that she, Mentha had, for the last blessed time.  I sipped tea and soothed her, feeling thoroughly at home, and completely well.  

When I returned before lunch, Frodo and Merry were curled in front of the fire, talking quietly.  They looked over as I closed the door behind me.   Ill-at-ease, I realized that I hadn't knocked before I'd entered.  It was ill mannered to walk into a private room that way unless you were family…or a very close friend.   And what was appropriate behavior when you had just interrupted your lover's conversation with your guardian, anyway? 

"Er….Good afternoon, Frodo," I temporized.  "Sorry to interrupt but I heard voices and….wondered if you would like to come to lunch with me."  

Merry raised his eyebrows until they disappeared under his hair.  Then he grinned widely.  "Well, that explains why we didn't hear your knock."

I felt my cheeks heating as I glared at him.  "I said I heard your voices, didn't I?"

"Heard voices or heard our voices?  If it's the latter, you have Elven ears!"  he retorted.  

Frodo got up from the floor, smiling ruefully. "Stop teasing, Merry.  We have a regular lunch appointment, don't we, Tansy?"  He came over to me and took my arm.  "Shall we?"

We walked out into the hallway, and Merry followed us still blathering. "Go on without me, I insist," he said.  "No, really, I have a lunch….what did you call it, Frodo?  Appointment?  A lunch appointment, as well."  

"I'm pleased to hear you'll have company," Frodo retorted smartly.  "Especially since we are otherwise engaged."

Merry laughed and stopped in the hallway, patting the pockets of his bright blue weskit. "Very well, then I'll beg a favor."   Not finding what he sought, he turned his breeches pockets out and finally produced a key dangling on a fine silver chain.  "Select a wine from the wine cellar for the table tonight?  I'm afraid it slipped my mind until just this moment, and I know mother is waiting for me to escort her."  He looked over at me.  "Tansy won't mind, will you?  She has excellent taste." He looked up to the ceiling, chortling.  "Yes, excellent taste, she has..."

I took the key to quiet him.  "Yes, Merry.  Good afternoon, Merry."  

He looked relieved and headed off toward the back entrance to the family wing.  Once he was out of earshot, I looked at Frodo questioningly.  "Have a nice visit?" 

"Of course."  He looked at me with a faint smile on his lips and gestured for me to continue down the corridor.  

"Did you get caught up on all the news?" I ventured after a minute's silence.

"Yes, somewhat."

I was frustrated at his non-responses but hesitated to press him further.  The questions I really wanted to ask paraded through my mind repeatedly.  _Did you tell him you asked me to marry you?  What did he say?  Did he agree?  Did he set a dowry?_  And the most insistent:  _Did you ask me because you knew he would insist on it? _

We arrived at the kitchen while I was occupied with my thoughts and I waited quietly while Frodo asked Cook about the evening meal.  

She listened to his explanation, stirring a large pot of soup.  It smelled delicious.  Then she tucked a few wisps of hair back under her white cap and looked Frodo over appraisingly.  Her face split in a broad grin.  "Some rest and good cooking and you're right as rain, eh'nt you, Mister Frodo?"  

"I do feel much improved," he said, smiling wistfully. "I'm in your debt." 

She set down her ladle and simpered like a girl, and not at all the brusque elder-servant I knew.  "Bless 'ee, Mister Frodo, I'm just doing what as should be done.  But it's very kind of you to say so, I'm sure."  She stood there for a moment, while Frodo waited for her to continue.  

It looked to me as if she'd completely forgotten that he'd asked her a question and was just staring at him.  I couldn't fault her for that.  He was wearing a faded light blue shirt with snug tweed breeches so he _was _quite enjoyable to look upon.  There was a pause, and then a look of comprehension dawned on her face.  "Oh, I nearly forgot the wine!" She laughed, sounding a little embarrassed.  "Well, I'm not sure.  Red is nice and hearty, and it seems like I remember a goodly amount of 1360 laid away that would go nicely.  'Ere taste this soup."  

He tasted it solemnly and pronounced it delicious, to her obvious pleasure.  She added complacently:  "The 1360 vintage is good and not too expensive, either.  Master Saradoc is always pleased to save a bit."  Frodo thanked her gravely and took her hand to shake it.  She smiled happily, blushing a little until she caught one of the maids staring.  

She dropped his hand abruptly.  "Right, well, I must get back to my cookery.  Elsie, since you've nothing to do but stand around goggling like a fish, you can show Mr. Frodo to the cellar door."  

Elsie looked not unhappy with this assignment.  She straightened her apron and said,  "Yes, mum.  If you would follow me, sir?"  

Frodo glanced over one shoulder at me, and I took his arm.  Elsie led us to the door leading to the second kitchen, and stopped, waiting.  When we came level with her, she looked at me in surprise.  "Miss Tansy, you're not going, are you?"

"She's kindly agreed to assist me in my choice," Frodo said calmly. 

Elsie pursed her lips, obviously debating what to say.    "But Mr. Frodo…the ladies don't go into the wine cellars."

I was unsurprised by this announcement, knowing as I did that this was a chore the men of the Hall tended to reserve for themselves.  I looked at Frodo and shrugged.  "It's all right, Elsie, I understand."  I started to tell Frodo that I would see him at luncheon, but he cut me off.  

"Miss Tansy will be accompanying me and then we will go to luncheon together."  That was all he said, but his quiet voice made her straighten and drop her eyes.  She led us through the second kitchen and the pantry, before reaching the worn cellar stairs in the back storeroom.  Elsie lit the wall candles as we descended but the stair was still dim.  We proceeded slowly, myself behind Frodo who was in turn behind Elsie.  Halfway down, she stumbled on some irregularity and Frodo seized her arm and steadied her.  

She looked up at him, her face pale under the cap.  "Thankee, sir.  You saved me from falling."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," he said calmly.  "You likely would have found your feet."  She opened her mouth to argue and then checked herself.  She held her peace but started stealing little sideways looks at his face.  He seemed oblivious.  

At the bottom of the stair, we confronted a stout wooden door.  Elsie turned the iron key in the lock and then pulled the door open for Frodo.  

"Shall I get the other door, too, sir?"

He glanced in and hesitated for a long moment as if thinking.  Then he squared his shoulders and said, "No, I can get it. My thanks for your assistance, Elsie."

She turned rosy-pink at his use of her name and her lips parted.  "If'n there's anything I can do, Mister Frodo, just ask."   I must've made some noise then, for she glanced at me from under her eyelashes and then hurried away.  

Frodo went inside without looking back and I followed, shaking my head.  The wine cellar door was oak with a brass lock, and set into the stone and earthen wall close to the main entrance.  I held my candlestick up while he fitted the key on its silver chain into the lock.   

"I don't think I've ever seen an entire kitchen conquered so effortlessly," I said. "I'd heard of the Baggins charm, but that was amazing!"  He pulled the door open and stepped inside.   "I begin to wonder if perhaps I am not merely the latest in a long line of ladies slain by your blue eyes, in fact­­­­­­— " 

He interrupted me in an oddly hoarse voice.  "The 1360, where is it?"

"Oh.  Let me help you look."  I went inside and looked around curiously.  I had never been in the wine cellar before.  It was a large round chamber, with walls of earth and stone, and racks of wine bottles.  The walls and ceiling were braced with heavy timbers.   A crate sat half-unpacked against one wall; the rags that had been wrapped about the bottles heaped untidily on the floor.  

I found and lit a single wall sconce that was inconveniently behind one of the racks.  I found that it was practically useless; it shone through one of the bottles and so produced only a dim reddish glow.  Frodo propped his candlestick on an empty space in the rack closest to the door and was looking at the labels.  I went to the next in line and squinted at the cramped writing.  The labels were grimy and hard to read.  I had to wipe them off as I went and my hands were black before I had finished one row.  

"1296?  I didn't know we had that.  I've certainly never gotten to drink any of it," I looked further along the row, reading aloud as I went. "1299…and here is 1300.  They're in order by year."  I knelt down to look at the last row.  Unlike the outer cellar, this room had an actual wooden plank floor.  Frodo brushed past me without a word and bent to the next rack.  I pushed my hair back, remembering too late about the dirt on my hands.  

"Oh, dear.  You can tell this is a man's preserve," I went on, wondering if I should try wiping my hands on my underskirt. "Look how dirty it is!  I think I'll have to stop and wash before we go on to lunch, don't you think, Frodo?"

He paused and looked over at me.  His face was tight, and looked greyish in the candles' flickering light.  "Frodo?  Are you all right?"

He forced a smile that looked ghastly.  "I'm fine.  Let's just find the blasted bottles and go."

My eyes widened at his tone.  I left the rack immediately and went to him, putting an arm around his waist.  "What is it?  What's wrong?"  He was trembling with tension under my touch and now I could see the dew of sweat beading his temples.  

He pulled away from me and wiped his forehead.  "I'm fine, Tansy—"  He started back to the farthest rack but froze when he stumbled over the rags on the floor.  I watched him anxiously, wondering what was wrong.  

"Frodo?"

He didn't seem to hear me.  He dropped his eyes slowly and stared down at the floor, breathing shallowly.  I followed his gaze, but saw nothing but the tattered rags.  "No…" he whispered.  His face was livid in the faint reddish light.  He looked at the stone walls around him and fell to his knees.   "No!"

"Frodo, sweet, what is it?" I said, hastening over and kneeling next to him.  He had covered his face with his hands, moaning, "No, no," with every other breath.  

"Let me help you, Frodo."  I tried to put my arms around him and he shook me off.  

"Don't touch me!" he nearly screamed.  He brought his hands down from his face and plunged them frantically into the pile of rags.  "Where is it, it must be here, it must!" 

"What?  What must be there?"  It was as if I hadn't spoken. I touched his shoulder and he grabbed my arm and thrust it violently away from him.   

  "Don't touch me, foul creature!" he cried.  I looked back at him, aghast, and his face crumpled suddenly, tears spilling down his cheeks.  "Don't, please, no.."  He covered his face again and sank down until he was huddled on the rags.   

I was in an agony of indecision.  _Should I run for help? I can't leave him alone in this shape!  _  "Frodo, please…  Frodo, look at me," I begged him.  My hand went out to him involuntarily before I stilled it.  I was afraid to touch him again.  

He shook his head and began again rummaging about himself frantically.  "I must have it, where is it!" he cried.   My blood seemed to turn to ice.  _The Ring?  Is he talking about the Ring?_  He looked around, and his eyes were a pale burning blue, fierce, wild and completely unknown to me.  He touched his chest and caught on the chain around his neck.   His hands locked around it tightly, and a flicker of confusion passed over his face.  

He drew it out slowly, and clasped the gem to his breast.  He was still fallen on his knees, staring at the far wall, his eyes moving as he watched some personal phantom.  

"Frodo?" I whispered.  He turned his head slowly, and his gaze met mine.  I started to touch his hand and his eyes widened, showing the whites.  He looked so suddenly distressed that I jerked around to look behind me.  I was sure some terror loomed, but the chamber was still empty save for us two.  I heard him mumble something indistinct and turned back.  

"Frodo?" I asked him again.  "Do….do you know me now?"  

He had closed his eyes, still speaking softly.  "I don't want to see….I don't want to see any more…I don't want to see it!"  With the last words, he yanked the gem over his head and flung it across the room.  I couldn't believe it.  I'd never even seen him with the gem off before, much less showing this violent antipathy toward it.  _Is it the Ring's influence still? I must get it back to him!_

I scrambled across the chamber and dropped to the floor, groping underneath the rack where I thought the necklace had fallen.  I peered through the dust and could just make it out, gleaming with its own soft light against the wall.  I managed to hook a finger on the chain and pulled it to me.  _I have it!_  The frosty surface was slippery under my fingers.  I jumped to my feet and started back to Frodo with the gem clenched in my fist.  

I took a step and paused…suddenly noticing the grain of the wood in the bracing timber closest to me.  It was amazingly fine, bespeaking a tree of at least 150 years when it was felled.  I touched it with one finger, marveling, and looked around the rest of the room.  All the timbers and racks were of a beautiful dark wood, finely grained.  The dust and the grime had faded to transparency.  The wine bottles glowed in rich colors of ruby and emerald and gold.  

I took another step and looked at Frodo, to exclaim to him over the amazing beauty around me.  I looked over at him, where he still knelt on the wooden planks and my voice died in my throat.  Lost his looks, some had said?  Even I, who loved him dearly, had had to admit that his looks had changed.  Pale, thin, worn by the rigors he'd undergone, but he still seemed beautiful to me.  Or so I had thought.  

I looked at him, and he gleamed.   A thousand times brighter than the gem in my fist, he glowed as if he'd swallowed the moon.  Beams of light poured out of his fingers, and shone from the curves of his face and body.  The light foamed and danced about his knees, spilling around him in a widening pool that hid the floorboards completely.  

I stood there with my mouth open, looking witless, and just gazed at him.  His hair was a sea of light, each raven-dark strand outlined in radiance.  _I see him._  His eyes were closed and I could see the luster of each single eyelash, one a thing of unbearable beauty, and the whole of them tortuous.  How had I not _seen_ it before?  He was rubbing his left shoulder absently, seemingly unaware of the light and glory within him.  

I focused on his left arm and felt a chill.  The light had waned.  In the next few seconds, the luminescence vanished over his left shoulder. I watched, horror-struck, as the corrosion spread rapidly, across his chest to his other arm and down his torso.   The dancing pool of light at his knees faltered and faded.  Waves of darkness seemed to wash over his face, dousing the incandescence of his lips and hair.  In the last feeble flickers of the light, his face was pale and perfect…and lifeless.  

The jewel flared between my fingers and in its harsh light, he twitched once and fell backward.  _He's dead..._  _No!_  I caught my breath on a sob. Without his radiance, he seemed impossibly tiny and fragile, a discarded doll.  And then as if in a horrible dream, I saw his skin darken; his hair became dull.  _No, no, no, no… _Locks of it tumbled off his head, lying on his shoulder, caught on his collar.  His cheeks were sunken.  A network of black tracery spread across his forehead, harbinger of the coming decay.  _No, no, no, no!_

I felt dizzy and the horrible sight before me wavered.  My hand clenched spasmodically, loosened, and Queen Arwen's cold gem fell onto the floor.  I sucked in a breath and blinked.  And, lo!  Frodo was before me, fallen on his knees, and no nearer either glory or corruption than he'd been before I picked the jewel up.  

I stared down at the necklace, glimmering on the floor, and felt an urge to knock it down the drain hole.  _What was it?_  I thought frantically.  _What happened? _ The gem's glitter mocked my lover's wondrous radiance.  _You see now, don't you?_ it signaled to me.  _Now you _see _truly_.  

I kicked it away from me with my foot, sending it skittering across the floor to bump against Frodo's knee.  The clatter of the necklace roused him a little.  He put one hand on its chain, and I fought down an urge to cry a warning to him.  I was cold, so cold.  I wrapped my arms around myself and sank down to the floor.  The images I'd _seen_ kept replaying in my mind.  The glow fading…death…decay.  I couldn't stop shaking.  _Now you see_.

Frodo twirled the silver chain about his fingers and raised it to his neck.  I noticed that he did not touch the gem itself as he settled it into place.  _What does he see? _I thought to myself.  _He wears it against his skin, all the time.  What does he know? _ Suddenly he seemed far beyond me and my small concerns, as I was beyond a child's tears for her broken doll.  If I asked him, what would he tell me? Would I want to know? _What did he see when he looked at me just now?_  

At last, he opened his eyes and looked around.  I was still crouched on the floor, and he focused on me.  _Did he see my death, as I had seen his?  _He swiped at the tears still trickling down his cheeks, and said "Tansy?"  

I wiped my eyes, and took a deep breath. _He knows me, thank goodness…_     I tried to straighten and nearly fell over.  I felt frozen in this position.  "It's all right, Frodo.  I'll help you up and we'll go." I tried to keep my tone even, nearly blank.   _Maybe this was all just a dream._  He started to stand, and his face tightened in pain.  I crawled over to where he knelt and put his arm across my shoulders.  We eventually managed to stumble to our feet and out of that cursed cellar.  I eased him down onto a rough bench at the foot of the stair.  He sat rubbing his neck while I grabbed three bottles from the middle of the room and set them in the bin by the door.  I re-locked the door and closed up the main cellar, and dropped those keys in the bottle bin, as well.  By rights, I should return it to Merry, but this was definitely a time for creative rule interpretation. 

We made our way slowly up the steps and into the last storeroom.  I leaned against the wall, panting with effort, and tried to think of what to do next.  "I think you need to go to the healer, " I told him.  

He looked bitterly amused.  "If I thought she could help, I would.  What do you think?"  

I shook my head in reluctant agreement.  "Shall I get Merry, then?"  

He stiffened, a muscle jumping in his jaw.  "Help me back to my room," he said.  "I simply need rest.  There is no need to worry Merry."  I stepped away to peek into the pantry and beyond to the second kitchen.  All was quiet.  Luncheon had started so everyone was busy serving or carrying.  

I went back to get him and found him standing independently.  I took his hand between my two, and kissed it.  "The servants are busy with luncheon, Frodo.   I think we can slip quietly back."

He nodded and I ducked under his arm again to help him.  He grew steadier as we walked, but stayed silent.  Luckily, we met no one in the hallways to notice our disheveled condition or ask us awkward questions.

*************************


	14. A Soft Oblivion of All Fears

**A Soft Oblivion of All Fears**

When we reached his room, I led him inside and sat him down on the bed.  He was compliant, slumped on the bed like a confused child.  I unbuttoned his weskit and braces quickly.  He curled up on his side, and I covered him with a quilt.  He reached his right hand out to me and I took it, sinking down to sit on the floor next to the bed.  "How do you feel?  Are you all right now?" I asked, studying his face.  Amidst the dust were clean tear-streaks.  

He closed his eyes at my words and took a deep shuddering breath.  "No, I am not all right.  I haven't been all right for months and I never will be again."

I brought his hand helplessly up to my cheek.  Once again, I was at a complete loss. His words from our first meeting came back to me:  ".._I find myself doubting that things will get better.  And fearing that they will get considerably worse."  _I pressed my lips to his palm, wishing I could kiss away his hurts and heal them as easily as I had Toby's pretend ouchies. 

"Do you want to talk about it?' 

A shiver shook his slight frame.   "That ….place.   That…cellar.  I stood there and suddenly I was no longer in Brandy Hall, in the Shire.  I was in the Tower.  A round chamber with stone walls and a wooden floor, dark and oppressive.  N-nothing to cover myself with except….rags…filthy rags.  And I waited for my death to come through the trapdoor."

His voice sank to a whisper.  "I wanted my death to come through the door.  Better there than…   "  He fell silent, closing his eyes.  After a minute, he frowned and said,  "I'm cold."  And then: "I don't understand.  How did you get there?  Where is Sam?  Is he all right?"

I leaned my forehead against the bed, struggling against the despair that wanted to drag me down.  _Why does he suffer so?_  "I—I'm giving Sam a break, Frodo.  Otherwise, he would wear himself out for worrying about you.  Just rest now, love."

He tossed his head, and turned over in the bed.  The muscles in his jaw contracted sharply. "But I'm so cold."  I touched his left hand where it lay on the mattress.  It was fiercely cold, so much that the sensation burned into my fingers with a tingle of pain.  I was stunned for an instant, then jumped up to stir up the fire.  I found the compresses I'd used once before on the fireplace rack and pulled them down, with short angry movements.  _Why? Why him?  He's done so much, borne so much…_  The questions in my head beat a staccato counterpoint to my actions.  

He thrashed on the bed behind me, and called out, "Sam, close the window, you silly goose!  It's forty below in here!"  I hurried over to him and placed the first hot compress on his shoulder.   His lips were moving but I couldn't make out what he was saying.  I left the compress on until it cooled and then changed it for a fresh one.  As I worked, I wondered if I should go to the healer.  I remembered what I'd seen just a short while ago, and shuddered.  _This is no mere illness of the body_.  _It's an assault on his spirit that, at its worst, spreads to encompass his body._   The healer was a kind person, but still a hobbit who had never left the Shire.  What would she think of this illness?  I grimaced.  The last thing Frodo needed was more gossip about his health and sanity.  

He grabbed my wrist when I pressed the compress against his skin, and said clearly, "Sam, you're a marvel! You've got it here?"  His eyes were closed as he talked, but I could see them moving in their sockets under the delicate skin of his eyelids.  I didn't know what to say, so said nothing.  _Please let him come back to me, please, please.  _

"You've got it? Give it to me!  Give it to me, at once!"  His face was twisted in anger.  

I tried to pull away and his grip tightened until I felt pain.  "It—it's around your neck, Frodo," I gasped.    He groped about his neck until his hand struck the chain and the gem.  Tension began draining from his muscles almost imperceptibly and he released me. 

I could see fading pink marks on my arm, and I tugged my sleeve down to hide them.  My hand was trembling, fine tremors that were nearly unnoticeable.  _I'm tired.  I'm frightened.  I don't know what to do.  Or who I could ask for help.  _The tremors traveled up my arm and shoulders.  I felt tears stinging across the bridge of my nose.  _What do I do?_

A ripple of discomfort passed over his face and he took a sharp breath.  "Stop it, Sam, that hurts.  Just let me be for now."  

"I'm sorry, love, I'll try to be more careful."  _I don't know.  I can only do what I can…and hope it's enough.  I straightened my shoulders and went to make some tea. _

When I brought a lukewarm cup back, his eyelids fluttered.  "I don't think I can eat anything," he whispered through cracked lips.  

"It's just tea, love," I said soothingly.  "Are you thirsty?  Don't you want something to drink?"  

He jerked as if stung and looked at me despairingly.  He closed his eyes again and said softly, "I do.  I do want something to drink."   

"Here, then."  I needed to lift him a little so he could swallow comfortably.  I slid my arm under his shoulders, noting worriedly how warm he felt.  _First cold, now heat.  How much can his body take?_  I began to raise him and he flinched.  "Don't, please!" he cried.  I jerked away involuntarily and he sucked in his breath in a wordless keen that froze my heart.  There was pain and sorrow and despair in the sound, but little of the Frodo I knew and loved.  _I must stay here for him.  I must…_

He turned onto his back, and began clawing at his left side.  He raised red scratches along his ribs, despite his short, chewed fingernails.  I caught his poor hands up in mine, one maimed and one half-frozen, and kissed them.  "Frodo, Frodo, stop it, you'll hurt yourself," I said with as much authority as I could muster.  

His hands jerked in mine and he said plaintively, "It burns.  All down my side, it burns and itches and I can't bear it."  

"I can help," I told him.  "Don't scratch, just wait for a minute."  I ran over to the windowsill and grabbed one of the apples sitting on it.  It was chilled and I pressed it to his side.  He tensed, his hand grabbing at mine.  I rolled it around the red marks.  His skin was soft, dimpled now with goose flesh, and drawn tight over his hipbone.  

He focused on me with a curious look. "That doesn't hurt as I thought it would."   

"No, often when things itch, something cold feels good and makes the itch go away."  

He went on:  "Are you Saradoc's new wife?"  I shook my head, and a single tear dripped down my nose and fell on the soft skin I touched.  I suddenly felt a little dizzy, as if the man before me had faded into a gentle boy, lost and confused among the Bucklanders.  His body was as slight as a youth's.   Could I tell the boy to beware of uncles with golden Rings?  He tossed his head restlessly.  "I don't feel well, auntie," he said softly.  "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

"You're not, dearest."  

He frowned, then said, "I don't know you."  

That brought a watery smile from me.  "Not yet," I replied.  "But one day, you'll fall in love with me."  

It was suppertime before he remained quiet for any length of time, and not until twilight, when the first stars began flickering in the sky, did his breathing slow and his face ease into a true gentle sleep.   I finally gave in to my own fatigue and cuddled up behind him, hoping the worst was past.  

At some point in the night, I became aware of him stirring next to me.  "Frodo?" I whispered softly.  "Are you all right?  Are you in pain?"

He slid an arm about my waist sleepily.  "Tansy?" he murmured. "Is it nighttime already?" 

I stroked his hair, remembering the glory that had suffused each strand.  _So beautiful…_ "Yes, and you should rest."

His hand found the lacings of my dress.  "Why are you still wearing your clothes?" he asked, more alertly.  He went on, not waiting for my answer.  "I don't remember what we did today, Tansy. What did we do?"  

I hesitated, feeling a superstitious dread that to speak of his illness would cause its return. He started to prop himself on an elbow and fell back with a grunt.  "My shoulder is cramping up.  And I feel weak.  I've been ill today, haven't I?"  He fumbled on the bedside table for a candle and lit it.   I blinked in the light at him.  His eyes were blessedly clear, his face bright with concern.   

"Do you remember anything?" I asked him.  

He crinkled his brow in thought.  "Talking to Merry about… " he glanced over at me, and went on without finishing.  "You came back from your walk.  We were going to lunch.  But first, we went to the kitchen to select a wine for dinner.  And…" he trailed off, looking puzzled.  

"To the kitchen, yes, " I confirmed.  "And then we went to the wine cellar.  You remembered something.  And you were not well for a time after that." 

"To the wine cellar..." he repeated.  "And I…I remembered something…"  

"Don't let's speak of it," I said urgently.  "All's well that ends well."

He held my eyes with his own.  "How ill?" he asked quietly.  

I knew if I looked away he would immediately see through me.  "Not too ill," I said.  "You were very tired, and had no energy and no appetite.  I brought you back here and you slept the day away."

He closed his eyes meditatively.  "I slept? And what else?"  

"You were restless," I said.  "And there were times you didn't know me.  But that's all."

He took a breath.  "I'm sorry indeed to be such a burden.  I wish I could give you half the care you give me."

That stung me. "You're not a burden, Frodo.  Never.  And you have given me much care and comfort."  I stroked his face gently. 

His lips tightened in frustration.  "You are in love with a hobbit who cannot even fetch a bottle of wine out of a cellar!"

I rested my head on his stomach, searching for words.  I could hear the anguish behind his words.  "Wine gives me a headache, anyway," I said, striving for a light tone.  I met his eyes evenly.  He looked disbelieving.  "You heard me correctly, Frodo.  I don't care about the blasted wine." 

For a moment, neither of us spoke and then his face eased.  He reached out and began smoothing my hair back behind my ear.  I leaned into the caresses, pushed my cares away.  "And there's always ale," I said.  

His lips twitched in a tiny smile.  Then he pulled me up into his arms and tucked the quilt closer about us.  I was yawning from the day's fatigue.  He snuffed the candle and we slept.  

The next day I could not keep my attention on my sewing.  After I ran my needle into my finger twice, I gave it up with an excuse about not feeling well.  I think the other ladies were glad to see me go; blood stains fine linen atrociously and is a bad omen for weddings besides.  I went to the library on the pretext of looking for a book and just sat in one of the comfortable chairs, lost in thought.  I could hear my own voice echoing in my ears, repeating something I'd told Frodo.  _"I don't think I could ever kill anyone."  _

I didn't have to think….I knew I could never kill anyone.  I could never deliberately send someone from this World, visit on some other innocent the pain that had destroyed me twice over.  But was it still killing if it wasn't intentional?  I would lift no knife to Frodo's throat but according to the dreams, staying would kill him just as surely.  And the person I loved would be gone.  Not just far away, over sea.  But beyond Arda truly, and out of reach forever.   

But to lose him…  Oh, I loved him.  I loved him so I ached with it, that my day seemed incomplete until I'd seen him at least once.  _Is your selfishness and desire worth his life?_  I already knew the answer to that. 

_"I've developed rather a horror of death."   _A horror of death?  Rather, a hatred.  And a horrible cowardly fear.  If death took someone from me again, could I survive it?  I remembered the dreams and shivered.  I got up and paced, and finally left shortly before elevenses.  Frodo had developed a taste for Cook's lemon scones; I'd fetch some for him as a treat. 

When I returned a little later, he was standing by the table with a letter in his hand.  

"Good morning." I put a scone in his hand and he made a noise of appreciation. 

"Good morning and thank you." He caught my hand and kissed me lightly. "I've received a letter from Sam." 

"Oh?" He seemed more somber than I would have expected if he'd heard from Sam. I stirred some sugar into a cup of tea.  "Is everything all right?"

He sat down next to me. "Yes, but he wonders why I've extended my stay.  He is traveling close to this area in two days and offers to travel with me back to Bag End."  My hand tightened on my cup, and I set it slowly down.  He continued, with a quick look at me, brows slightly drawn together.  "It will be difficult to get off on short notice, but I think it would be best."

"You're leaving?" I asked numbly.  "But Frodo, why?"

He put his arms around me and pulled me close.  "Several reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I'll ruin your reputation if I stay."  He stilled my barely begun-protests with a finger across my lips.  "And I have things to see to in Bag End, as well.  I've been away a month, after all. I'll be back shortly, however, and you and I will make our arrangements. You said you wished our betrothal were finalized.  It can be, then.  All proper and legal."

"But, Frodo," I argued.  "You'll miss your birthday.  Only three days from now! You know Merry has planned a dinner party and—" 

"I know, and I would not miss it—except Sam asks this of me.  He has asked me for very little, but he is concerned now.  And I need to talk to him."   

"Frodo…."  I bit my lip hard.  "Are there any other reasons?"  He was silent, stroking my hair soothingly.  I straightened and looked at him.  "If there's more, I'd like you to tell me."  Perhaps he'd tired of me and merely sought a non-confrontational escape.  

He sighed and shook his head.  "I will admit I want to be at Bag End for the first week of October.  I think familiar surroundings will help…." 

I felt a chill pass over me.  "You'll be ill on October sixth, you said."

"Yes," he agreed reluctantly. 

"But you'll have no one to look after you!  You must stay here and let me—"

"No, Tansy," he said.  "It will be easier for me there.  And I will have Sam and his wife Rosie, and they'll look after me quite well."

I wanted to cry in my distress.  "Then I'll come with you to Bag End.  For a visit. That's not completely unknown, after all." 

He put one finger under my chin and tilted my face up to his.   "No," he said firmly.  "It's impossible for us to travel together, much less stay at Bag End.  For a bachelor and a widow, anyway.  This is the best option, indeed the only one."  Tears sprang to my eyes and his face softened.  "Here, sweet, don't be upset.  I'll return as soon as I'm well enough to travel."

I toyed with the buttons on his weskit.  _It's not fair_, I cried to myself.  I pushed against him so that we slid sideways on the divan.  Spreading his collar with my hand, I leaned forward and began kissing his neck, tasting him.  His skin was a warmer ivory now, after all the time we'd spent outside.  "You'll return?" I asked him, my words muffled against his skin.  

He tipped his head back a little, stretching out fully. "As soon as I'm able," he said softly.  I could feel the vibrations of his words in my lips. I began undoing the buttons of his shirt.  Perhaps loving him now would make the parting easier to bear.  A  voice spoke up in my mind.  _Release him? Fool!  You can't even let him go home for a month!_  My eyes began stinging again, and I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away.  

I spread his shirt apart, revealing his down-soft skin. _He is so beautiful._  He shifted on the divan and brought my lips to his, barely brushing them at first.  I nibbled teasingly along his lower lip, and traced the upper with little flicks of my tongue.  The world began to fade away until nothing except the sensations of his lips and body under mine seemed important.   

He slid his hands up my back, finding the laces and undoing them deftly.  When he'd finished, I straightened up and pulled my dress off briskly.  I looked down at him.  His eyes were glittering brightly, and his lips parted, almost chafed-seeming.  _So beautiful…_  He raised himself on one elbow to slide his shirt off.   Shifting downward, I kissed the skin of his belly deliberately.  He froze in position, his shirt a pool of white linen around his elbows.  I ran my lips caressingly over his flesh.  His muscles tightened and I felt it against my mouth. I dipped my tongue into his navel, circling it and then moved down until I reached his waistband.  

He inhaled sharply and pulled me up to his mouth.  He kissed me hard, once, then pulled my chemise over my head.  I lay back in his arms after he dropped it on the floor.   He leaned over me to kiss me again, his dark curls spilling across his forehead and into his eyes.  I heard him breathing in quick little pants and I pulled the encumbering breeches down. 

"Ohhhh…" I moaned softly as he lowered his body to mine.  He breathed out slowly; then we both were still for a moment, content to be joined.   The intensity of the sensation made me writhe with tension.  I opened my eyes to see him, to imprint this moment on my soul, and his beauty was like a knife to my heart.  The curling tendrils of his hair were damp and stuck to his forehead, and trickles of perspiration had run down his cheeks.  His skin was flushed.  "Love," I gasped.  "My love, oh my love.."

His eyebrows drew together at my words.  He dropped his head and pressed his lips to mine.  "Yes, my love," he whispered against my mouth, into my mouth.  "My love."   My mind spun, consumed by the pleasure in my body and his words in my ears.  I cried out his name, twining my hands into his hair and hearing him, tasting him in my mouth, until I was lost and all that was left was pleasure.  I heard him cry out above me and he fell into my arms.  

The tension eased out of me in a long slow rush, leaving me tingling.  Frodo's shoulders were trembling; his head resting on my shoulder.  My heart was still pounding, although beginning to slow.  I ran my hands down his back, to his thighs, tracing his body.  I fell into a sort of reverie, listening to his breathing, and feeling his skin.  After a time, he turned his head toward me.  His eyes were closed, but he took one of my hands and brought it to his lips and kissed it.  His body was limp and heavy and warm, and completely relaxed.  As I watched him slip into sleep, all the thoughts I'd tried to keep at bay earlier came storming back.  

_"I've developed rather a horror of death.  I don't think I could ever kill anyone."_

Would you let your love for him sentence him to death?  Would you do that? 

_But I wanted more time with him.  _

You don't know when the Elves will sail.  And he must be on that ship. 

_I'll wait until he returns from Bag End, then._

Would you wait until you're wed?  Do you think he would leave you then?  What if…when you get with child?  Could you ever convince him to go?

_No…no.  But still I love him so…_  My thoughts dissolved into silent tears, scalding and bitter.

The tears finally passed, and I felt a fragile peace steal over me.   I pressed my cheek against his curls and gave myself up to sleep, as well.  

When I woke, it was afternoon.  He was still sleeping.  After I dressed, I propped myself on my elbows and watched him.  I was so full of emotion I could not contain it all, as if I were drowning in his light.  

_That was the last time._

I traced my fingers over his face gently.    The softness of his eyebrows, the line of his nose.  _Frodo.  _The smooth expanse of his brow, pale and perfect.  His lips, full and relaxed and as soft as down.  If I kissed him, I would feel him stir, then his lips would open and move gently under mine.  Loving me, welcoming me.  

_I must remember him_.   

His eyelashes were dark against his cheeks, a raven band of shadow outlining his eyes.  The skin of his neck was satin-soft and fragrant with his warm sleepy smell.  The curls of his hair were subtly disarranged, their disorder only emphasizing the beauty of his face and form.  

_Remember me, my love. _ 

I couldn't look at him any longer.  It was too much to see him and know what I had to do.  I got up from the bed and went to sit before the fire.  I traced the pattern on the rug with my fingers, remembering sitting here, loving here.  _It was worth it.  _

I heard him turn in the bed and I watched as he reached out for me and found only emptiness.  The sight stabbed me to the heart, and my resolution wavered.  _Health and long life? _ I chided myself.  _Do you want that for him?  Decide that first, and then the rest becomes very easy, isn't it?_

He opened his eyes.  "Tansy, there you are," he said, smiling drowsily.  Seeing the look on my face, his eyes widened abruptly.  "What is it?"

I could not put this off, much as I wanted to.  I would tear myself to pieces and have done with it.  "I talked to Opal and Dahlia," I said slowly.  "And I've done some thinking." 

He sat up in bed and reached for his dressing gown, shrugging it on.  _Say it, Tansy._  I opened my mouth and found my voice gone.  I cleared my throat once, twice, and finally said, "I can't marry you."  The words fell onto my ears with the dull thud of a closing coffin.  Four little words…  

He looked stunned, his hand opening and closing absently.  "What?"  I tore my gaze away from him and stared down at my fingers, lacing them together.  First finger, second, ring finger, little.  Just like in the children's rhyme, line them up.  The song began tinkling absurdly in the back of my mind.  _Line them up, two by two, two by two, line them up._  

"I—I—"  My voice was shaking.  I steadied it carefully and went on.  "I will not marry you."

I heard him get up and walk over to stand before me.  Through a blur of tears, I stared at his feet.  "Tansy, I don't understand. Does this have to with my trip home?"

I put one hand over my eyes to wipe my tears away.  I didn't want him to see how much this hurt.  "No, not at all.  It's just—Frodo, you don't love me." I looked up at him and saw his face tighten.  

He knelt down and took my hands between his.  "But I do love you…as much as I can.  I don't know what else to say.  I won't lie to you, Tansy.  There are times I'm not sure what is left for me.  Or in me.  I've never tried to hide that from you.  But I know you…"  He didn't finish his sentence but we both knew what it was.  _But I know you love me._

_Walk them out, one by one, one by one, walk them out._   "You're meant to go into the West.  With the Elven Ring-bearers when they take ship.  And Bilbo.  And finally be healed of your wounds."

He squeezed my hands tightly.  "I knew I would regret telling you that. Meant?  What does that mean, in the end? Am I not allowed some of the choices in my life?"  

"I don't know," I whispered.  

"It's not what I wish.  I missed the Shire when I was away.  I want a simple life again.  To make you happy…and be happy myself in return."

I closed my eyes against the gentle persuasion in his voice.  I wanted to give in to him so badly; I was trembling with it.  Later, we could laugh at my pre-wedding jitters. "Do you want to die then?"

"All mortals die."

_Marry them off, till we're done, till we're done, marry them off._  "Stop it, Frodo!  You can see ahead, I know you can.  I don't want you to die, Frodo.  Not if there is something I could do to prevent it." 

"There is nothing you can do to prevent it, Tansy.  And who's to say where my death would come quickest? Here or there?"

_I can, unfortunately.  That damned jewel…He could have one year or a hundred, and which do I want?  I can't heal him.  If only I could… _I stared down at his hands, stroking mine gently, comfortingly. _I can't say it to him. _

A cool interior voice answered relentlessly: _Do you want him to live?  Do you?_

Hating myself, I finally managed to whisper, "Do you truly believe you cannot know where your death would come quickest?" My fears were immediately confirmed when he dropped his eyes to our joined hands.  I had to wipe my eyes again before continuing.  "You're dying, Frodo.  Sweet lady of light, I wish it weren't so, but you are, and I have seen it."

_Odd man out, all alone, all alone, odd man out.  _He was silent, staring at the floor.  I struggled to finish my words before I broke down.  "Frodo, I love you so and I can't face your death.  I can't.  To know you stayed and died to be with me—it would kill me, my love.  I would have to die with you, I couldn't bear it otherwise." 

He looked up, his face under rigid control.  "It's not fate," he said softly.  "Dreams, visions, sometimes that is all they are.  And like the morning mist that fades by noon, sometimes they melt into the present and you realize that's all they ever were.  Just mists…dreams."  

"And what did you see when you looked at me in the cellar, Frodo?"  The gentle motion of his hands on mine ceased.  His face was quiet, his eyes suddenly as blank and bleak as a February sky.  He rocked back on his heels, not answering.  

"You saw my death, didn't you?  That was why you were so horrified and distraught."  

He hesitated a moment, and then shook his head firmly.  "That's not what I saw, Tansy."   

"But you have seen things, haven't you?"  

The sorrow on his face broke my heart.  "Yes."

"And if you stay in the Shire?"  I whispered through numb lips.

He slumped, and closed his eyes.  "Yes.  I am dying, will die."

"I saw it when I picked Arwen's gem up.  I could _see it, I could _see_ you, and you were more beautiful than anything I've ever seen, ever even dreamed of…you can't be lost to the World, you just can't."  I was sobbing now, despite all my efforts to stay calm.  "I won't, I won't let you die." _

He pulled me to him and I cried into his shoulder.  _Pick a partner, and you're gone, and you're gone, pick your partner._   Even through my tears I was aware of the feel of his arms about me, the warm tension of his body along mine.  We sank down until we were half lying on the rug, pressed as tightly together as we could manage.  I felt his breath catch and heard him speaking. 

"I knew, I knew I would die but I didn't care.  An end to sorrow and pain, I thought, and why not here in the Shire?  It seemed appropriate."

"Frodo…"  _Oh, my love…you deserve so much more…_

"And then that day in the cemetery—" 

"You were so beautiful," I said. 

He straightened up, looking at me intently.  "I'd been pitied, cared for, worried over but no one had gotten angry at me in so long.  I felt…normal suddenly.  Or as if I could be."  

"Yes."  I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching out to him.  He watched me move away from him, rubbing the scar over the absent finger.  

"If nothing else had happened, I would have loved you for that, Tansy." He stopped again and passed a hand over his eyes, a spasm of grief constricting his face.  "I release you then."

I couldn't speak, so I picked his hand up and kissed it.  I kissed each finger on his poor maimed hand, wishing for something, anything, so that I didn't have to let him go.  He stroked my hair gently, and kissed my cheek when I finished.  "Don't cry, Tansy.  It's all right."

"I wish—"

"I know.  I do, too."

I breathed in very slowly.  "Promise me…"

He half-smiled.  "Why am I unsurprised at this?"

"I—I want to know you'll heal.  Please, I need to know it.  Promise me you'll do as you're meant.  Peace, Frodo.  Healing and long life," I hesitated, and finished softly, "and perhaps love."

He looked away for an instant, but when he turned his face back to mine, it was calm.  "I'll do my best."

I was struggling to get to my feet when he spoke again.  "I didn't see your death, Tansy.  I saw you alive and happy."

It took me a minute to digest this.  "But your face…"  

He was staring sightlessly into the fire.  "With a child tugging on your hand."  I started and he swallowed hard.  "Not my child, though."  

"Frodo.."  What could I say?  _Oh, my love, you deserved so much more than what you've gotten._  I wanted to throw myself at his feet and beg him to stay.  I wanted to spend my life making up for every hurt the world had visited on him.  But instead, I got up and walked out of his room.  I didn't look back at him, sitting there by the fire.  I couldn't.

Mentha came by the next morning to tell me about Frodo rising early and announcing his intention to return to Bag End immediately.  She looked me over curiously, and said eventually, "Did you argue? Quarrels can be mended, you know.  Why, Everard and I fight like the dickens sometimes."

It hurt to speak of him, even to just mouth my pre-thought excuses.  "No, Mentha.  But I can't….simply can't marry another wanderer.  I don't want to hurt so again.  I won't put myself through it."

She looked sympathetic.  "You poor thing!  No wonder, dear, and no blame to you, if I say so myself. The Bagginses seem rather a restless bunch."

"When is he leaving?" I asked, biting my lip.

She glanced out the window.  "Left just a quarter of hour ago, I would say.  Why?"  She grabbed my arm as I made to leave.   "Tansy?"

"I want to see him once more, Mentha," I said softly.  She hesitated and then nodded, letting me go. 

Once outside, I ran as fast as I could for the Road.  On a pony, Frodo would be far ahead of me already, but I did not want to catch up to him. A close-by hill looked a long ways west.  When I reached it, I scrambled up as quickly as I could, ripping my dress on a bramble and skinning my knees when I fell. 

I looked west and saw him.  Far away, a tiny figure on a toy pony, riding, riding, away from me and from the Shire.  _What if you've made a mistake?  Sent him away to live the last year or two of his life alone, among strangers?_

 "Frodo!" I called, as if he could hear me.  I reached out to that small figure, alone on the Road.  "Frodo."   My eyes blurred with tears and I blinked them away rapidly.   

_No, there's Bilbo.  And Gandalf.  Someday Sam, as well._

I began speaking louder, as if to drive away the pain.  "Well met and fair journey, Frodo Baggins.  Find your peace at last.  Long life and health…And love, my sweet… Love to ease your days and warm your nights.  I've loved you as much as I could, and I will not allow…."  I stopped a moment, nearly choking on my tears. 

I took a deep breath and finished fiercely.  "I will _not allow myself_ to regret giving you up. You'll go into the West and be healed. You were not mine."  I sank down to the turf and closed my eyes, letting the tears trickle down my cheeks.  "Goodbye, my love," I whispered.   

**********************************


	15. Epilogue: A Sweet Sleep

**Epilogue:   A Sweet Sleep**

I'm an old woman now, with children and grandchildren and great grandchildren.  It's odd how clearly I remember that time, now when the events around me sometimes seem misty and out-of-focus.  I remember when I got my courses after Frodo left Brandy Hall, I fell across my bed and sobbed myself sick.  He'd said, you know, but still I'd hoped.  Hoped even though it would have meant my ruin.  

Merry was furious with me, of course.  He couldn't believe how I'd disrupted all his carefully arranged plans.  I tried to tell him but couldn't make him understand. Truth be told, I hardly understood myself how I'd ended up sending away the person I loved more than anything in the World.  Relations between Merry and I were quite strained for the rest of the year.  That next autumn when Frodo went away, though, Merry came 'round and apologized to me most sincerely.  

 "I didn't know," he'd said.  "I'd thought he would be happy once he found you.  Why couldn't he stay?"   The mask came off and he'd looked at me with his pain in his eyes, honestly bewildered by it.  Dear Merry.  A wonderful man and an excellent Master, yet just between us, he had one flaw.  He sometimes got a bit too used to having things his way.  

He's left the Shire, as well.  Estella had been gone nearly four years when he got a message from the King, asking him to visit one last time.  He and Pippin left for Rohan and Gondor, soon after.  They'll not be returning. The night before he left, he came to me and we talked for a while, reminiscing of the good times over our long lives.  The only good thing about being old is being able to have visitors and no one bothering their silly heads about it.   And while the rush of passion may not be as overpowering, the skill of long experience more than compensates.

I married again, of course, just as Frodo had seen.  I married Merimas, a good man, easy to live with and easy to love.  He passed on two summers ago and now fall's come around again.  It's always in fall that the old memories haunt me. The light is golden, and the air is warm and I spend my days dreaming of Frodo.  Remembering his voice, his eyes, and the feel of his body.  The young ones in my family would be astonished to know what Granny thinks of in her long walks.  My last autumn, I do believe.  I've seen my loves, my dear ones in my dreams, and it seems to me that one day soon, they'll come to me with arms open wide and kiss me and bring me home at last.   I've seen Tory and Toby and Merim, that is.  I haven't seen Frodo.  My dearest one that I held for so short a time.   

Long life and health, my darling, I prayed for him when I sent him away.  And love...  I fancy that prayer's been answered and I don't see him because he lives yet, young and strong and beautiful as always.  He lives, and all these long years, that thought has been a comfort to me.  It's good to think he is in the World somewhere.  He was not mine, no more than any living creature can belong to another.  We share our light for a little while, our love against the dark, and that's all we can ask. In this World, that is.

I hope he remembers me now and then.  He lives yet, but he won't forever.  Mortal he was, and mortal remains.  And I hold one wish just for myself, only one.  When his time is done, let me see him.  Let me go to him as I once did, as I was then, and kiss him, laughing for joy at the scent of his skin and the feel of his lips.  Let me welcome him home.  And let me tell him once more, how very much I loved him. 

**********************************

**Descent of Torinas**

**Talco Chubb** ( 1265-1360)  

m. Lilac Brandybuck (1270-1365)

(sister of Gorbadoc Brandybuck 1260-1363)

**Tosco Chubb** (1311-1355)  

m. Opal Banks (1325-1425)

(later married Dodinas Brandybuck 1311-1409)

**Torric Chubb-Brandybuck** (1351-1445) 

m. Dahlia Goodbody (1350-1452)

**Torinas Brandybuck** (1383-1419) 

m. Tansy Proudfoot (1383-1486)

(sister of Sancho)

**Tobas Brandybuck** (1416-1420)  

never married

**Tansy Proudfoot Brandybuck **

married (1423)

Merimas Brandybuck

(1381-1482)

Three children:

Opal  (1424-  )

Peridot (1426-  )

Serimas  (1430-  )

**********************************

Author's note:   
  


This story would have never come into being without the spot-on critique and unfailing enthusiasm and encouragement of three special ladies: 

Oselle  
Elevensies  
Nilramiel 

_I will make no songs about them, being content to chant their beautiful names._

*paraphrase, with apologies to Treebeard* 

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.


End file.
